When The Spark Dulls
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Mycroft and Greg have been married for a few years and suddenly Greg realizes that he hasn't seen his husband for more than a few minutes for months. What's happened? Why is Mycroft distancing himself? Warning: Sadness to start with and maybe a bit of tragedy...not sure yet.
1. Sunday 1

**Disclaimer: The Grand Canyon is rather beautiful…for a big hole in the ground. I found my children's attempt at a tunnel to Australia far more interesting. Headed for Disneyland next. Still not mine and I'm still poor.**

**A/N: I know I said the chapter I posted for Sherlock and the CHS was the last one for today but…well, I guess I lied. This story has been sitting in my hard drive waiting for me to post it and I figured that today would be a good day to do it. It's not Honey 'Verse. It's actually a product of my daughter showing me Mystrade fanfictions. Yep, it's a Mystrade. With a little Johnlock on the side. Let me know what you think. Be forewarned, it's kinda sad to start with.**

**Sunday**

It was dark and silent. He sat in the cruiser and stared up at the building. No light shone from the windows. He sighed. Another night alone, then. How many did this make? Ten, twelve? He'd lost count again.

Feeling far older than his forty eight years he opened the door and stepped out on the drive. Why was he even here? He could sleep in his office. It wouldn't be the first time and barring that he could commandeer John and Sherlock's sofa. Wouldn't be the first time he'd done that either. But he was too tired to drive to either place tonight.

With a tired groan he slammed the cruiser's door shut and made his way heavily up the stairs to the door. He unlocked the door and didn't bother turning on any lights as he shed his clothes on the way to his bedroom. He stopped abruptly on the threshold and stared in consternation at the figure in his bed.

He gave a quiet snort and a wry smile. Not wanting to wake the other man he shed his trousers and carefully crawled into his side of the bed. He reached out and started to wrap his arms around his husband but an irritated huff stopped him.

"Not tonight, Gregory, I'm tired." Mycroft Holmes told him clearly. Gregory Lestrade pulled back, stung. He'd only wanted to hold the other man while they'd slept but apparently even that was too much for Mycroft.

"Right then," he muttered and turned so that his back was to Mycroft. Irritated Greg glared at the wall and listened to Mycroft's slow even breaths. Even with the other man's heat near him he felt cold and alone.

Wounded brown eyes stared at the wall as the hours passed. Greg was exhausted but he couldn't seem to fall asleep. He didn't know how this had happened. Over the past few months Mycroft had slowly but surely drawn away from him. Now instead of one soul in two bodies they seemed to be two strangers that occasionally shared house space.

Even the shared house space had dropped off. Tonight was the first time in two weeks that Mycroft had been home. He'd been gone for ten, home for two and then gone for two weeks. The pattern had emerged slowly but now Greg spent more time alone in their house than they did together.

What had he done wrong? Mycroft didn't cut people out of his life. But he was cutting Greg out. Why?

A faint pink light spread over the wall as Greg blinked his tired eyes. How long had he been lying there, unable to sleep with his brain whirling with questions? A beeping brought his attention from the wall as Mycroft moved to cut the beeping off.

Greg closed his eyes, not wanting Mycroft to know that he was awake. He felt the other man sit up and worked to keep his breathing slow and deep. Mycroft was still for a moment and then a sigh filled the air and Mycroft rose from the bed. Greg slit his eyes open and watched Mycroft's pajama clad form move to the door and head down the hall. Greg closed his eyes again fighting off irrational tears.

He kept his eyes shut as he listened to the shower turn on and then turn off fifteen minutes later. He heard Mycroft's soft footsteps come back down the hall and move around their bedroom as he dressed for the day. He didn't dare open his eyes in case Mycroft was watching. He fought back a pathetic snort at that thought. Mycroft wasn't watching him. There had been a time when Mycroft's eyes had followed him everywhere but that time was long over.

"Gregory?" Mycroft's voice barely above a whisper filled the silent room. "Are you awake?"

Greg debated answering for a moment before he realized exactly how childish he was being. So he turned over onto his back and propped himself up on an elbow to regard his husband. "Yeah," he said quietly.

Greg watched as his shoulders visibly stiffened before slowly relaxing. "Did I wake you?" Mycroft asked without taking his eyes from the mirror where he watched his own fingers tying his tie.

"No," Greg said and nearly winced at the rustiness of his voice. He cleared his throat. "I was awake."

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow at that but let it pass. "Good." He finished with his tie and swung around making eye contact with Greg for a moment before he headed for the chair where his jacket rested. "I've a meeting in Vienna and then another with the American President. I'll be back by Friday at the latest." He sent Greg a distracted smile as he shrugged into his jacket. "Maybe we can have dinner when I return."

Greg flopped back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Sure, dinner," he said. "It's a date. Soon as you come home."

"Excellent," Mycroft smiled as his mobile beeped again. He pulled it from his pocket and read the text as he headed for the door. "I shall see you Friday, Gregory. Have a good week."

"Mycroft!" Greg called out as the other man was halfway out the door and sat up.

Mycroft half turned to look at him. "Gregory? I'm afraid I'm already running late. Was there something you needed?"

"Yes," Greg drew the word out. "Mycroft…" suddenly he couldn't find the words.

"Gregory, I am late." Mycroft said with controlled irritation as his mobile beeped again. "What do you want?"

"Just…" Greg looked at the other man unable to say what he was thinking. "Never mind," he finally said dismissively. "It'll keep 'til you get back." He lay back down and stared at the ceiling as Mycroft huffed in exasperation.

"Very well, Gregory," Mycroft bit out. "I'll see you Friday then."

"Yeah, Friday, Mycroft." Greg said dully.

"We'll talk then," Mycroft said in a slightly bewildered tone.

Greg lifted his head and gave his husband a wan smile that he hoped looked a lot brighter than he felt. "Friday, Mycroft. We have a date."

Mycroft gave him another distracted smile as his mobile beeped and the doorbell rang. "Yes, a date," Mycroft nodded and walked quickly down the hall as his fingers moved rapidly over the keys of his mobile.

Greg listened silently as Mycroft left and heard the car drive away to the airport. He closed his eyes against the light of the rising sun and twirled the gold ring on his finger absently. "Happy anniversary, Myc," he whispered. The red rays of the sun turned the tears on his cheeks to fire.


	2. Wednesday 1

**Disclaimer: So we made it to Disneyland. Going to the park tomorrow. Got tickets for four days. The kids are insistent that they'll need that much time to check for Eros under every characters costume. Like I really believe that. Still…couldn't hurt to check I guess. Still not mine and I'm still poor.**

**A/N: So here's the start of this weekend's updates. I hadn't planned on updating this one first but…well, I was busy this week and so this is the only story I have any chapters done on. That's right folks, I didn't write at all this week. I thought that once the students were gone work would be less busy; man, was I wrong! Hope you like this chapter. Let me know.**

**To Kate: Thanks for the review and the romance will come eventually.**

**To Redhood: I'm glad you like it and my other stories. Have a great weekend and thanks for the review.**

**Wednesday**

"I must admit I was rather surprised to see you here on Sunday evening Holmes," the elderly Minister of Finance for France, Jean Levaux, said as they shared a glass of brandy after a long day of meetings.

"Oh? And why is that, Jean?" Mycroft settled back in his seat. He hated these meetings but Jean was a breath of fresh air. He was witty and amiable and one of the few politicians that Mycroft had ever met that really did care more for his country and its citizens than his own paycheck.

Jean gave out a hearty laugh. "Oh, Mycroft, you are a sly one. If I had left my Giselle, God rest her, hanging on our anniversary she would have stung me up on a clothesline and flayed the skin from my body." He chuckled again. "But then your Gregory doesn't have half the temper my Giselle did. No doubt he kissed your cheek and told you to have fun, did he not?"

Mycroft swallowed hard. A sudden vision of Gregory's weak smile as he'd left flashed across his mind. Had he even kissed his husband that morning? He couldn't remember but he suspected not. "Oh Hell," he muttered.

Jean's eyes widened and he stared in astonishment at Mycroft for a moment before he began to laugh again. "It is good to know for certain that you are human, mon ami," he said between chuckles. "Do not worry. Your Gregory is a very forgiving sort. I'm sure you shall only be relegated to the couch for a month or two."

Mycroft passed a hand over his eyes and sighed. "Or six," he told Jean. "I have been busy the past few months and haven't given Gregory nearly the attention he deserves."

Jean clapped him on the back with a smile. "So take a week off and make it up to him, mon ami. He will forgive you in the end. Gregory is very much in love with you and he knows that you love him very much as well."

Mycroft managed a weak smile for his friend. "Yes I do," he nodded. "Well I must be going," he placed his napkin on his plate. "I shall have to roust Aurelia from her bed so that I can send my husband a gift as an apology."

"Superb idea, Mycroft," Jean congratulated him. "That is if she hasn't done so already. Your assistant was a very good find."

"She was, yes. Though I'm nearly positive that she hasn't sent him a gift from me. She's been frowning at her BlackBerry all week. She may have sent him something to mark the occasion but he'll know that I didn't send it."

"That perceptive, is he?"

"Hmm," Mycroft stood and shook Jean's hand. "One of the pitfalls of marrying your best friend. Thank you for the dinner, Jean. I shall see you next month."

Jean waved him off. "Yes, of course, Mycroft. Do bring Gregory, won't you? My daughter is most anxious to discuss matters of police procedures with him again."

Mycroft smiled and nodded then strode off between the tables of the restaurant and out into the chilly Vienna evening.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Two hours later Mycroft had confirmed with Aurelia that she had indeed sent Gregory an anniversary gift. She had been nearly curt with him but Mycroft had promised to apologize to Gregory as soon as they returned home. She'd given him a very shrewd look and nodded before shutting the door in his face.

He swirled the brandy around in his glass to enjoy the full scent and sighed as he stared out on the lights of Vienna. This trip really would have been much better with his husband along but he hadn't even asked if Gregory would have liked to have come with him. Why hadn't he asked? He'd been standing on this balcony for over an hour trying to remember the last time he's spent more than five minutes in his husband's company.

Had it truly been more than two months since they'd shared a meal? How in the world had this happened? Mycroft searched his memory for the last time he'd kissed Gregory and nearly gasped. At least six weeks! How?

Why hadn't Gregory said anything? Then he remembered the last conversation, just before he'd come to Vienna. Gregory had wanted to say something and he'd cut him off. Irritated at being late he'd cut off his husband's words and he'd barely even looked at him. What had he been thinking?

He hadn't been, obviously. Why did Gregory put up with him? Mycroft twirled the golden ring on his finger and gave himself a wry smile. Gregory was going to make him pay for his inattention. He looked forward to it actually. Gregory's plans for revenge were always so delicious.

He fiddled with the ring again as a frown overtook his face. He'd never done anything so hurtful to Gregory before though. Would Gregory forgive him? He couldn't even begin to contemplate a world without Gregory in it. Gregory had to forgive him. There was no other way.

He set the untouched glass of brandy on the railing and set his hands on either side of it before leaning forward and hanging his head. He had some major making up to do. His mind raced with plans and ideas on how to make up for his mistakes with Gregory.

He straightened and fished his mobile from his pocket. Groaning at the time he opened his messages folder and groaned again. Five texts from Gregory and all of them unopened and unanswered. He always texted Gregory back immediately but he hadn't even bothered to check his mobile in the past three days.

_Sunday 10:43_

_ Happy anniversary, Myc. Sorry we couldn't be together today. Miss you. Love you._

_ Sunday 18:38_

_ Tell A thanks for the dinner. Didn't feel like cooking or going out to get something so the Thai delivered to the door was perfect. On the off chance that you asked her to send me an anniversary dinner: thank you, Mycroft._

_ Monday 7:12_

_ Hey, just thought I'd say good morning before I head to work. How's the meetings? Boring? You haven't answered my texts from yesterday. Everything okay?_

_ Monday 17:48_

_ Right you still haven't answered my texts but A says you're fine. Going out to the pub with John and Sherlock tonight. They gave us an interesting and disturbing present. Tell you about it when you get home. Look Mycroft, we need to talk when you get home. I really need to see you. Don't cut me out anymore. Sorry didn't mean to get all sappy over the phone but I just_

_ Never mind. We'll talk when you get back. Love you._

_ Tuesday 9:17_

_ I hold you completely responsible for the hangover I have. Well, you and John. For such a short little guy he sure can drink. Your brother on the other hand is a cheap drunk. Two beers and he gets this cute lisp that just cracks me up. Anyway, see you Friday._

"Dammit!" Mycroft cursed himself. Why hadn't he checked his phone?

Sudden determination straightened his shoulders. He would finish up early and surprise his husband this evening. His fingers rapidly typed out a message to his sleeping husband and then he too went to bed.

_Thursday 1:06_

_ Greg_

_ I'm sorry. There are no excuses I could give you for my recent behavior and all I can do is apologize. Please forgive me? I love you._

_ -MH_


	3. Sunday II

**Disclaimer: So we're off to Sea World now. And the San Diego Zoo. Yay! Will Eros be there? Doubt it but still it's time with my kids and fun in the sun. After this we're spending a few days on the beach. Still no Lestrade for me though. And I'm still poor. Even poor people can have fun in the summer, especially when they have their parents credit card.**

**A/N: I'd apologize for taking so long to update but I did warn you all. My summers are busier than my winters. We have camps and graduations and trips and all sorts of stuff during the summer and so updating is hard, writing is hard…Hell, finding time to breathe is difficult. Anyway, here's the next chapter of When the Spark Dulls. There is a time skip here. I did Mycroft's POV last on Wednesday in the story. This chapter is back to Greg on Sunday. The story will stay with Greg for a few chapters until going back to Mycroft on Thursday. Have fun and let me know what you think.**

**Sunday**

Greg's eyes blinked open. Automatically his arm reached out to the cold bed beside him and he frowned. Oh, right, Mycroft was headed to Vienna for whatever reason. Greg sighed. Looked like he'd be spending their anniversary the same way he spent most of his days, alone.

He shook his head angrily. There was no sense in feeling sorry for himself. Mycroft had an important job and it wasn't like Greg didn't get busy himself sometimes. _Not for over two months,_ some inner part of him argued.

Well that was true, but catching murderers wasn't nearly as time consuming as stopping or starting wars now was it?

_Stop making excuses for him, _the inner part of him said. Surprisingly or not actually it sounded like Sherlock. _He needs to stop putting everything else before your relationship._

Ignoring the voice he picked his mobile up from the table next to his side of the bed and texted his husband. Well, at least Mycroft would know Greg was thinking of him today.

Shaking his head at his own pathetic attitude he tossed the blankets to the floor and got out of bed. "So what to do with a day off all by myself?" He asked aloud in an effort to banish the silence of the flat. "Haven't done laundry in over a week. Should probably do that." Making no effort to head for the pile in the bathroom of dirty laundry that didn't go to the cleaners he turned on the shower.

As the hot water beat down on him a few minutes later he groaned in despair. He had taken showers alone for over forty years and now it seemed that being alone was almost more than he could bear. "Dammit!" He punched the wall. "Damn you, Mycroft!"

He viciously scrubbed his hair clean and slammed out of the shower. The silence dissipated his anger again and he slumped over to the wardrobe for a pair of sweatpants. Donning them he glared half-heartedly at the laundry and stalked into the living room throwing himself onto the sofa and thumbing the remote to turn on the telly. There wouldn't be anything good on but at least the noise would distract him.

He flipped through the various news channels with no interest at all. He dealt with the news making events enough in his job that he had no curiosity in seeing them on the telly. While the children's programs would be entertaining Greg didn't really want to be entertained either. He wanted to be grouchy and out of sorts. It was his anniversary and he was alone because his husband had urgent business in Vienna.

He finally settled on some reality program that he couldn't recall the name of. There was no footie on so he was stuck on what else to watch. He paid the program little attention as his misery and depression weighted him down. Depression and boredom eventually got the better of him and he dozed fitfully on the sofa.

He knew it was a crap way to spend his one day off but he had no energy to change anything and even if he did he had nothing to do. He could have called John but then Sherlock would find out that Mycroft had apparently forgotten their anniversary and he would either be gloating or concerned in his own way. Neither was a prospect that intrigued Greg in the slightest.

The day would have been a lot different if Mycroft had stayed. There would still probably be a lot of napping but there would have been far more activity between naps. Greg missed him like he would miss his heart if it were suddenly gone. He supposed that after three months of abandonment he should be used to the feeling but he wasn't.

He was woken from a light sleep by the pounding on the door. Greg blinked his eyes open and glanced at the clock. 6:15 pm. Wonderful. He'd wasted the day completely. He really was a pathetic sod. The banging came again and Greg levered himself to his feet to answer it.

He opened the door to a delivery boy who handed him a bag of take away Thai food and a note. Greg tried to tip him but the boy walked away before Greg could do more than thank him.

Greg felt a smile creep across his face for the first time all day. Maybe Mycroft hadn't forgotten after all. Thai food was Greg's favorite and Mycroft was well aware of that fact. He set the bag of food down on the table by the sofa and ripped open the letter. The smile fell from his face.

_Compliments and apologies. I have cleared the boss's schedule for the weekend he comes home. There will be no interruptions whatsoever, barring a nuclear emergency. I will make the boss aware of his grievous mistake before we return. He does love you very much._

_-A_

_P.S. Happy anniversary from me, Greg. I'm sure he'll make it up to you._

Greg crumpled the note up and threw it at the wall. "Dammit Mycroft!" He cursed loudly. Even Mycroft's assistant was paying him more attention than his husband. He flopped down on the sofa again and glared at the offending bag of Thai food. He really hated his life right then. This had to be the worst anniversary in the history of the world.

A few minutes later his stomach reminded him that he hadn't eaten anything all day and that Thai food was, after all, his favorite. Grumbling he fished his phone out and sent off a quick text to his husband before opening the bag and taking the various boxes out. He ate the food quickly, barely tasting all of his favorites before glaring once more at the telly, the clock and the walls.

Finally at nearly eight, obnoxiously early, he couldn't take the silence in the house anymore and stomped his way to the bedroom and threw himself on the bed. He may as well sleep. The day was wasted anyway and he didn't feel like doing anything but feeling sorry for himself.

He wrapped himself in the blankets on Mycroft's side of the bed and determinedly closed his eyes. He knew that sleep would be elusive but he also knew that he was a stubborn bastard and he'd force his depression to lift by the morning. Damn Mycroft Bloody Holmes anyway.


	4. Monday

**Disclaimer: Not mine but I really wish they were.**

**A/N: Once again, I am apologizing for the wait but I've been really busy. Like I've said before things most likely won't even out until the middle to end of July. But I'm here now and here's a new chapter for you. Hope you like. Let me know?**

**Monday**

Greg woke with the sun in his face again and an empty bed. The one he'd been expecting but the other was a surprise. They both made him curse roundly. "Forgot to shut the fecking curtains, idiot." He berated himself and struggled up from the bed to fix the issue.

Sighing in relief at the blessed dimness he checked the time and shrugged. It read six-thirty in glowing green numbers. After tossing and turning most of the night he had expected to oversleep. Fortunately the sun had decided he'd slept enough.

Greg frowned slightly at the empty unmade bed and then ignored it for the bathroom and a shower.

It was just as he was stepping out later that he heard a faint ringing from the bedroom. Greg scrambled out of the slippery shower bashing his knee against the wall. Whipping a towel off the rack, he cursed as it smacked him in the face. He raced to the bedroom and scooped up the mobile phone from his bedside table as he skidded into it and fell on the bed.

"Ouch! Fuck." He flipped open his phone and glared at the screen that didn't hold the name he'd been hoping for. "What Donovan?" He growled as he put the phone to his ear.

_"Well, good morning to you too, sir,"_ Donovan huffed back. _"Did I wake you?"_

Greg sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "No. I was just getting out of the shower. What do you want?"

Sgt. Sally Donovan snorted. "Sure you were, sir." Her tone was disbelieving. "I was asked to call and make sure you'd be coming in today."

Greg pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it in confusion. He put the phone back to his ear and stood from the bed to pull on some clothes. "Why wouldn't I be in today, Donovan?"

Donovan huffed at him down the phone line. "Men," she said the word as though it were a curse. "Your anniversary. I'm quite sure the Freak's brother is as selfish as he is and he'd rather you played hooky today like every other year."

Greg's heart clenched in his chest. He cleared his throat. "No," he gruffed out. "Mycroft's in Vienna. Left yesterday. I'll be in. And don't call Sherlock a freak."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. "What?" Sally fairly screeched at him after the moment had passed. "What do you mean Vienna! And he left on your anniversary? I was wrong your husband is more of a freak than his brother."

"Donovan!" Greg barked out. His heart wasn't really in it though. He wanted to curse her for her insensitivity but that was just how she was.

"Sorry sir," she said though he could tell she didn't mean it. "I'll see you in a while then."

"Yeah," Greg said and hung up without saying good-bye. He sat down on the bed and then flopped back and glared at the ceiling. He really should have told Sally to keep this from Sherlock but they probably wouldn't see each other anyway. Not unless there was a nice, juicy murder.

He sent off a quick text to his husband and then pulled his shoes on and strode out the door. This was not going to be a good day.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Three hours later his theory was proved correct. Greg stood over the dead body of a naked woman with no idea how she'd come to be there, what she had died of or who she was. "Dammit!" He cursed.

Sgt. Donovan scowled and Anderson stalked up to him. "Don't even think it, Lestrade," he spat out. "Give me a few more minutes and I'll have it figured out. It has to be poison or something along those lines."

Greg glared at the forensics specialist. "No injection site, Anderson. And she doesn't have any of the markers of poison. She looks perfectly fine except for being dead. She isn't even pale. There's no bluish tinge to her skin or anything."

Anderson swallowed. "I'm sure it's poison. We don't need that psychopath or his sycophant!"

Greg raised an eyebrow at him. "If you're positive it was poison then you won't mind if I call Sherlock and John and have them confirm." Greg fished his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open pointedly.

Anderson glared at the innocent piece of technology. "Just give me twenty-four hours, Lestrade." He bargained.

Greg glared at him and then down at the phone in his hand. Mycroft was in Vienna on their anniversary. Didn't even call. Sherlock would be insufferable with that information. And even if Greg never opened his mouth about it he wasn't stupid enough to believe that he could fool a Holmes. He snapped the phone shut and nodded at Anderson curtly. It was one woman. This wasn't a serial killing and it wasn't a spree. "Get me everything you have by five, Anderson," he barked at the lank haired forensics man and stalked off to go roust the witnesses and interview them.

GL/MH GL/MH GL/MH

At four o'clock in the afternoon Greg finally headed back into his office and stopped short. "What are the two of you doing here?" He asked even as he walked around the younger Holmes and John to sit down behind his desk.

"We're here to take you and Mycroft out for your anniversary," John announced with a bright smile.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but nodded all the same before his gray eyes narrowed and he frowned. "Where is my brother, Lestrade?" He spat angrily.

Greg only lifted an eyebrow at him. "Can't you deduce that information, Sherlock?" He asked quietly.

Sherlock scoffed and John looked between the other two men in confusion. "What's going on?" He asked. "What do you mean where's Mycroft, Sherlock? Isn't he at his office? I mean yeah, it's different that they're both at work on the day after their anniversary but they have been married for five years. Other people make it to work after an all-day sex fest why shouldn't Greg and Mycroft?"

Sherlock turned his attention to his own husband. "All-day sex fest, John? Seriously?"

John flushed a bit and then shrugged. "Well, what would you call it?"

Sherlock suddenly grinned. "Worshipping my possession until we both pass out from exhaustion."

John flushed even deeper while Greg chuckled. "You would," Greg sighed. "He's in Vienna and then the U.S. until Friday."

"When did he leave?" John asked in shock. Mycroft had never left Greg without telling John and Sherlock he was going to be out of the country.

Sherlock snorted. "By the looks of Lestrade…yesterday morning. He forgot your anniversary, didn't he?" Greg stayed silent. "Thought so. Idiot." He waved a hand at Greg as the older man's gaze narrowed and sharpened. "Not you, though you are." Sherlock stood up. "Come along, Lestrade. We'll take you out to…what do normal people call it? Drown your sorrows?"

"What if I don't want to?" Greg asked petulantly even as he stood too.

John shook his head. "He's a Holmes in a strop. Do you really think you can stop him from taking you out?" Greg looked from one man to the other and shook his head. "See, Sherlock?" John grinned. "He can be taught."

The trio left the office and the building intent on getting Greg as drunk as possible.


	5. Tuesday

**Disclaimer: Yeah they're still not mine. If they were then Greg would have someone else's shoulder to cry on but I can't promise my intentions would be honorable. :)**

**A/N: Right so here's your chapter and thanks to everyone for hanging in there with me while I was so busy over the summer.**

**Tuesday**

Greg opened his eyes blearily and smacked his lips. God, that was the most disgusting taste, he thought. Groaning at his sore head he heaved himself from his bed and stumbled to the bathroom. What the Hell had he been thinking trying to drink an ex-soldier under the table?

He flicked on the light in the bathroom and flinched at the brightness. "Dammit, My, this is all your fault," he muttered unhappily.

If Mycroft had been home then Greg wouldn't have gone out with Sherlock and John and he wouldn't have tried to drown his sorrows in pint after pint of beer. He knew he was being illogical but being angry at Mycroft felt much better than being depressed about him. He could live with the anger but the depression was nearly killing him.

He jammed his toothbrush in his mouth and started the shower. The ringing silence in the house was deafening but the splash of the water drowned it out.

Half an hour later Greg felt almost human as he strode out of the hallway and stopped in shock. Sherlock Holmes was sprawled across his sofa, snoring lightly. Quiet clattering from the kitchen gave away the whereabouts of Sherlock's better half.

"John?" Greg called softly, just to make sure.

"There's coffee and toast if you want some," John called back cheerily. "Now that you're up, I'd better wake Sherlock. Sgt. Donovan called about ten minutes ago but I told her you were in the shower. Said she'd talk to you at work in that case, something about a murder yesterday."

"Murder?" A bleary voice asked from the sofa. "A good one? Not one of your normal boring ones? Of course it's a good one, otherwise you'd be done already and Donovan wouldn't be calling you about it. Details, Lestrade!" Sherlock demanded as he gracefully rose from the sofa and stalked into the kitchen.

"Sher," Lestrade began as patiently as he could around his pounding head. "Let me have my coffee first. I hate you both, by the way."

John sent him a grin and handed him a steaming mug. "Oh, we know, but it's hardly our fault you can't hold your liquor." Sherlock only smirked at him and seated himself at Greg's small kitchen table.

Greg scowled at both of them and sat down with his coffee while John handed Sherlock his own mug and then poured one for himself. Sherlock watched him intently for a few moments as they all sipped in silence.

"Now," Sherlock started when Greg had finished about half of his cup of coffee. "Are you awake enough to give me the details?"

Greg groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. "I promised Anderson twenty-four hours to figure it out," he replied.

Sherlock gave him a shocked glare. "Why on Earth would you do that?" He shouted. "It's stupid! He's an idiot and he'll never figure it out!"

Greg felt his lips spread into a half smirk. "You don't even know what the murder is, Sher. How do you know he won't be able to figure it out?"

Sherlock eyed him with disfavor. "It's Anderson, Lestrade!"

"Yes, so you've said," Greg nodded unperturbed. "Doesn't change the fact that he is a forensics technician whose job is to figure out the how's, when's, and what's of murders. He's not a complete idiot, Sher, and you know it."

"He couldn't figure out his way around a crime scene without directions from Sgt. Donovan. I've no idea how he graduated." Sherlock grumbled.

"When's his twenty-four hours up, Greg?" John asked reasonably.

"Noon," Greg muttered back.

"Well then," John smiled pleasantly. "We'll go do the grocery shopping and take care of a few other errands and meet you at the Yard for lunch, all right?"

"Errands?" Sherlock piped up. "What kind of errands? I don't like shopping, John. You know this. All those people." He gave a delicate shudder.

"Works for me," Greg shrugged and gulped down the last of his coffee before standing and checking the time. "Lock up when you leave, aye? I need to get going."

John nodded. "See you for lunch, Greg."

"What errands, John?" Greg heard Sherlock's whining as he closed the front door of the house and headed for his cruiser with a chuckle. Sherlock was such a child at times.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"What's the psychopath doing here?" Anderson hissed at him four and a half hours later. "Did you call him, Lestrade? You said you'd give me time!"

Greg looked up from the report he was reading, glanced at the infuriated man standing in his office doorway then out the window to the bull pen to see John and Sherlock approaching and then back to his report. "And I did give you time, Anderson, but no I didn't call him." It was the truth.

"Then why is he here?" Anderson whined. "No one wants him here. He's a psychopath! He doesn't belong here unless he's under arrest!"

Greg stared up at the whining man again. "One: I'm sure we'll find out why he's here soon though I'm betting as it's lunch time he and John have come to take me to lunch. Two: I want him here. He's an asset. Three: He's a high-functioning sociopath, or so he says. Personally, I think he just doesn't have any people skills. And finally: He hasn't done anything to be arrested for."

Anderson scowled at him and quickly left the office doorway before John and Sherlock made their way to his office. Greg shook his head at the childishness of the forensics technician.

"Afternoon, Greg," John smiled as he sat in front of his desk. "Sorry we're late; we stopped off to get some Thai takeout for you. Sherlock insisted we all eat here so that he can go over the files."

"Works for me," Greg echoed his earlier words. "Did you get any coconut curry?" He asked and reached for the boxes that John had set on his desk.

"And your corn cakes," Sherlock shoved the bag over to him proudly. "John nearly forgot them." He held out a hand. "Files."

Greg grimaced and handed over the files. "Lauren McKnight, 25, unknown cause of death. Autopsy report says she's perfectly healthy and toxicology report says no drugs in her system."

"Interesting," Sherlock murmured and buried himself in the file.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Greg shook himself from his contemplation of the crime scene and stared over at the slender dark-haired man inspecting the alley wall. "Find anything?"

Sherlock ignored him and continued on with his inspection. "You are going to make Mycroft pay for his stupidity, aren't you?" John's voice came from his side.

Greg slanted him a glance and shrugged. "I'm not sure yet," he paused. "I mean, is it worth it? He's been distant for months. Maybe he's sick of me."

Sherlock's disgusted snort let them know a part of him was still paying attention to the conversation. "I'm sure that's not it," John said comfortingly.

Greg only shook his head and sighed. "I still don't know whether it's worth the hassle of trying. We had some good years together but I'm not going to force him to stay if it isn't what he wants."

"You're both idiots," Sherlock growled. "You and my brother."

Greg gave him a sad smile. "So you always say. And I know that before he met me My was of the same opinion and that he truly believed that sentiment and love were a disadvantage. Maybe he's remembered that."

"Then he's even stupider than I thought," Sherlock whirled away from the wall and stood in front of them. "And it's definitely murder. Potassium poisoning."

Greg arched an eyebrow, glad to get away from the subject of his relationship with Mycroft. "Potassium poisoning? Don't think I've ever had a case involving that."

"It would explain why the tox screens came back negative though," John murmured. "Potassium isn't a drug."

"Right," Greg nodded. "What else you got, Sherlock? Who did it?"

Sherlock looked back at the wall with a tight frown. "Normally, I'd say the boyfriend, but the interviews say she didn't have one. I'll need to interview her roommate again."

Greg sighed but led the way back to the cruiser. "Let's go then. She should be off work by now."

Before opening his own door he pulled his mobile from his pocket and glared at the screen. No new messages. Dammit.


	6. Wednesday II

**Disclaimer: Don't I wish they were mine? But you already knew that. I spent most of my summer searching for Eros so that he would give me Lestrade and when I finally found him he said that Lestrade was a fictional character. Shows what he knows doesn't it? Maybe I shouldn't have called him a pansy…oh well, I'll figure something out. Until then Sherlock and company aren't mine and I make no money from these stories of their adventures…more's the pity.**

**A/N: I'd apologize for my lateness in getting this out but I'm sure you're all sick of hearing my excuses. I'm sick of hearing my excuses. So anyway here's your next chapter. Also the only information I could find on potassium poisoning is that it causes heart failure the rest of it is made up.**

**Wednesday II**

Greg rubbed at his tired eyes with thumb and forefinger. Tuesday had been very long and the night hadn't been much shorter. The empty bed and silent phone had seemed to be mocking him and so he'd left the two conspirators alone together while he and the sofa had renewed their friendship. At one point the telly and the radio had made their own attempts at catching his attention but mostly only the wall and sofa had continuously enraptured him.

Not that any of them had been any comfort whatsoever. Now he had to put his game face back on and face another day. Greg wasn't sure why he was trying so hard to not let anyone know how much he was hurting but he couldn't seem to stop himself. None of them would ever understand this deep, wrenching pain.

Well, maybe John could. He was attached to a Holmes himself, after all. The rest though could never see past the man's last name and cold exterior to the sweet, fun, lovable man beneath. Holmes men seemed to be very good at burying their best personality traits and putting forth a front of coldness. Sherlock hid behind a sociopath and Mycroft behind a bureaucrat.

Greg had to admit they were good covers. Almost no one saw beneath them and usually that suited Greg just fine. As long as no one knew the wonderful men, especially Mycroft, beneath the exterior then no one would try to take them, him, from him.

None of these contemplations were finishing his paperwork for him though, he sighed. The reports on the desk before him confirmed that Lauren McKnight had indeed died of an overdose of potassium. Greg was still amazed that someone could die from too much potassium in their system.

Apparently the excess potassium caused heart failure. The potassium buildup happened so fast that there was no time for McKnight's body to react which meant that it had to have been injected or ingested. There was no injection site so the woman had to have either eaten or drunk the potassium.

Tricky idea that, Greg's inner voice told him. If she'd ingested it then how did she not realize it was there? And had she ingested it purposely?

Anderson and Donovan, after they'd gotten over their irritation at Sherlock, were both proponents of the suicide idea. They maintained that she couldn't have ingested it without knowing about the poison and there were no signs of a struggle at all to show that she'd been forced.

Greg, with both Sherlock and John's backing, believed that there was something off. And since Greg was leading the investigation, Anderson and Donovan had been overruled. They'd all have to go over the site again and talk to all the people in McKnight's life again.

He didn't mind that too much. The work kept him busy and stopped him thinking about the shambles his life had become. Mycroft still hadn't texted or called him back yet. Greg had begun to start believing that he never would.

"Stop thinking about it!" Greg ordered himself under his breath. "It's not important right now."

He picked up the reports and resolutely signed each one before attaching them to the growing file on Lauren McKnight. With grim determination he focused all of his attention on the reports and the file while he made notes on a piece of paper situated to the side of the file on his desk.

A throat clearing at his office door a while later had him dropping his pen and glaring at the interloper. "What?" He growled.

PC Roberts swallowed and flushed a bit around his ears. "Sir?" Greg only upped his glare hoping the younger man would get on with his interruption so he could get back to actively not thinking of anything but work. "There's been another one like McKnight, sir." The words tumbled out of his mouth quickly. "The Superintendent wants you to have a look at the scene, sir."

Greg let his face fall into a scowl. "Of course," he grumbled. "What else could go wrong today?" Then he grinned a bit viciously. "This also proves that Donovan and Anderson were wrong though. With two separate victims it can't really be suicide can it?"

Roberts swallowed again and shook his head. "No sir." The DI could be very scary when he was in a bad mood and it seemed as though he been in a very bad mood ever since Roberts had joined the force two months ago. At least Roberts knew he hadn't been singled out. Lestrade had been gruff and irritated with even Sgt. Donovan lately and rumor had it they'd been on the same team for years.

Greg stood and shrugged into his suit jacket with that same scary, sharkish smile on his face the whole time. "Well," he said impatiently. "Let's go, Roberts."

Roberts swallowed convulsively again and nodded. "Yes sir," he replied in a higher tone than he would have liked. "I'm to drive you to the scene."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"There is no need to call the Freak and his pet," Sgt. Donovan sneered before Greg could even close the door of the cruiser Roberts had brought him to the scene in. "Anderson has it handled."

Greg slammed the door and glared at her. "We'll see," was all he allowed himself to say. "Show me the victim."

Sgt. Donovan barely kept herself from flinching. She knew she was on thin ice at the moment with the DI but he'd never illustrated it so convincingly. He'd been an absolute beast the past few months and she knew that her snide remarks about his husband weren't doing anything but making his mood worse. She couldn't stop herself though. The DI deserved so much better than that cold fish Mycroft Holmes. "This way," she motioned towards an alley and kept her voice even.

"Details," Lestrade barked out as they arrived at the mouth of the alley.

"Same as the first," Donovan said quickly. "Same age group, hair color, marital status." She paused. "Only thing is this one, Allison Jefferies, is still clothed and the only thing missing is her watch."

"Any evidence that links them?" Lestrade asked as he surveyed the young woman lying on the ground.

"Other than what I've already mentioned? No." Donovan told him curtly. "But we'll find it."

Lestrade lifted an eyebrow at her and then turned back to the young woman's body. Years of exposure to Sherlock had raised his awareness of the details and he quickly noticed the small stain on the lapel of the woman's jacket. "What is that?" He asked Anderson as he crouched next to the young woman and reached into his pocket for the gloves he always carried with him.

"What is what?" Anderson asked with an edge to his voice. It was bad enough when the Psychopath pointed out things he missed; did the DI have to start it too?

Lestrade shook his head in frustration and pointed at the spot of color on the white jacket. "That spot, Anderson."

Anderson looked down at the spot and then shrugged. "Coffee," he answered. "Thought you were trying to imply that I'd missed something."

Lestrade rolled his eyes and studied the spot. He drew in a breath. "Have you looked her over?"

Anderson nodded. "Haven't moved her any but we've catalogued everything visual," he reported.

Lestrade nodded and flipped the jacket open to reveal the huge coffee stain on the shirt the victim had been wearing. "What have we here?" Lestrade murmured. "Coffee?" He rubbed his fingers together after he'd prodded the stain. "Still wet too. She's not been dead long then."

Greg's eyes went wide and he swung his head around just in time to duck as a pop, pop, pop sounded throughout the alley. "Down!" He screamed to his team as he dove for cover behind one of the garbage skips.

Greg heard everyone scrambling and thuds as they dove for the ground and then in the quiet he heard heavy footsteps. Knowing it was probably one of the stupidest things he'd ever done he poked his head cautiously around the skip. "I wasn't finished with her," a large man growled out and pointed his gun towards Greg's head. "You should have let me finish."

Greg whipped his head back around the corner and winced at the loud report of the gun. Pain exploded in his head and the world around him went white and then gray and finally blackness blotted out the shouts and the light.


	7. Wednesday III

**Disclaimer: Still no change from the last chapter. They don't belong to me and the universe hates me so they never will.**

**A/N: Please stop sending hate reviews? Really. He's not dead. Promise. Like I'd ever kill off Greg. Okay so the only person that gave me a hate review was my daughter and she hit me around the head for killing Greg. Don't worry, he's still alive and he has a plan to get back at Mycroft for being an idiot. That's all I'm going to tell you. Well…that and that this chapter is stuff that happened before and after the crime scene. Mostly from Sherlock and John's POV but I think Anderson and DI Dimmock slip in too.**

**Wednesday III**

"Why did the murderer take her clothes, John? He didn't sexually molest her but he left her naked. Why? What was the point?" Sherlock rambled as he paced the confines of the parlour of 221B Baker St.

John watched his husband's pacing with a fond smile on his lips. "Humiliation maybe?" He offered. "She'd done something that humiliated him and so he wanted to pay her back."

Sherlock stopped suddenly and regarded his husband with a smirk. "Brilliant!" He exclaimed. "You should use your brain more often, John!" He strode to stand in front of the blond man and leaned down. After planting a swift, hard kiss on his husband's lips he jumped back and nearly ran from the room.

John lifted his fingers to his lips and stared after the younger man, bemused. "Wait!" He called out when his brain came back online. "Where are you going?"

"To see Lestrade!" Sherlock shouted back from the bedroom. "He needs to ask the family and friends if Ms. McKnight had made any enemies."

John shook his head with a slight smile and stood to follow his daft husband to the Yard. It was the only way to keep him out of trouble. Or at least try anyway.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Sherlock tapped furiously at the mobile in his hands as he and John sped to the crime scene. The sergeant on the desk had been reluctant to give them the address but he'd finally relented. The fact that Sherlock had information pertaining to the case overrode the desk sergeant's dislike of civilian consultants.

John sat next to him, hands folded in his lap watching out the window. There were times when John's unfailing calm irritated him but usually Sherlock didn't mind it. To be truthful Sherlock usually depended on it.

"The road's blocked," the cabbie informed them. "There's a mess of people and pandas and ambulances."

Sherlock looked up from his text and his eyes surveyed the scene. John switched his attention to the scene in front of them and gasped. There shouldn't have been that many ambulances and police cruisers. Something was going on. John didn't think it would be anything good either.

"It's all right, Richard," Sherlock told the cabbie in a distracted tone. "You can let us out here and we'll walk the rest of the way."

"Sure thing, Mr. Sherlock," the cabbie nodded and pulled up to the kerb. "Want I should come back in a few hours?"

"I don't think that will be necessary," John answered as he paid Richard and stepped from the cab. "We'll call you if we need a ride home."

Sherlock ignored the exchange and scanned the street for a familiar face. "Roberts!" He shouted at the newest member of Lestrade's team. "What's happening?"

Roberts turned to face the voice and cringed. "I can't let you through, Mr. Holmes. I…I'm supposed to guard the perimeter. I can't let you through."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and scowled at him. "I didn't ask to be let through. Why are the ambulances here?"

Brown eyes filled with tears and Sherlock's scowl grew. "The…the D-d-d I…he was…he was shot, sir. They say he's dead."

Behind Sherlock John gasped and shook his head. "Roberts," he started and then stopped. "Roberts, are you sure?" He asked and slowly approached the young man.

Sherlock, realizing he wasn't going to get anything out of the shocked young man, returned to scanning the crowd of people. "Dimmock!" He called out when he saw the other DI he helped occasionally.

John ignored his husband and focused on the man before him. Roberts was nearly hyperventilating and his pupils were blown wide. "Roberts," he said gently while motioning for a paramedic. "Roberts, I need you to focus on me." The brown eyes wheeled around for a moment and then focused on John. "Good," John's tone was soothing. "Good. Now, are you injured?"

The young man shuddered. "I don't…I'm…I don't think so," he stuttered out. John carefully reached a hand up to squeeze the PC's shoulder in comfort and Roberts hissed in pain before his knees buckled.

John caught him before he hit the pavement, Sherlock rolled his eyes when Dimmock squawked and helped his husband lay the PC out on the ground to await the paramedics. "What idiot sent an injured man to guard the perimeter?" He asked dryly.

"Donovan," Dimmock admitted. "She's a bit frantic though so I'll have to give her a bit of leeway. Apparently Lestrade has been shot in the head." He was a bit too calm for John. Dimmock must have caught his glare and shook his head with a small smile. "Can't be true," he pointed out. "We're not inundated with government agents baying for blood. If Lestrade had been injured then his husband would have all of us cleared out and the person that shot him in chains and awaiting interrogation in a smelly dungeon somewhere."

Sherlock gave a short laugh and John nodded. The paramedic arrived and the three men stood to let the paramedic deal with the PC. Dimmock led Sherlock and John past the crime scene tape. "Lestrade is in that alley with the shooter though," he told them. "He's hiding, I think, as he's not answering us."

John felt a shiver of dread race down his spine and one look at his husband showed he'd felt the same thing. He glanced around and then nodded to one of the buildings defining the alley. Sherlock nodded silently and John peeled off, hurrying into the building and up one flight of stairs before he made his way towards one of the windows facing the alley.

Thank God it was an office building and also that it had already been cleared out by the cops. John didn't think he had the stomach to deal with civilians at the moment. They asked far too many questions and took up time that Greg didn't have.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Later almost no one was sure what had happened. Those that did know kept the secret to themselves.

Dimmock had seen John leave from the corner of his eye and didn't say a word about it. He knew quite well that having John run off meant a quick resolution and a suspect in custody. Had they left Lestrade in the alley much longer the Government would have become involved and then they'd lose the suspect and probably a few of their officers. Mycroft Holmes did not take kindly to someone threatening his husband or the people that allowed it to happen. John would at least leave the suspect alive.

Sherlock knew exactly what his husband intended with a single look and only nodded his permission and acceptance. Lestrade was his brother-in-law and friend, though he'd never admit that second part aloud. Anyone injuring Lestrade should be prepared for Hell to rain down upon them.

Anderson and Donovan stood together at the mouth of the alley attempting to talk the gunman into letting them in to check on their silent DI. The shooter was having none of it. Anderson felt the Psychopath and DI Dimmock before he saw them and only lifted an eyebrow at the missing Dr. Watson. The echo of a gunshot had him smiling grimly as the shooter screamed in pain and blood blossomed from his shattered hand. When Dr. Watson joined them as they rushed towards the suspect and the fallen form of Lestrade Anderson nodded to the Doctor and went about following his orders on Lestrade's care until the paramedics showed up.

No one else had any idea what had happened though there were theories. They ranged from close to the reality to the truly absurd. Some said that Lestrade had a bodyguard because of his husband. Others claimed that because Mycroft worked for the government he had access to secret labs and the ability to turn back time. None of them ever connected the quiet, unassuming, polite Dr. Watson with the events of that afternoon.

The facts of the case were easily discernible. An unnamed, unidentified sniper had shoot a murder suspect through his gun hand, shattering said hand and disabling the gun. DI Lestrade had caught a ricocheted bullet with his head and was currently in critical condition at St. Bart's. A doctor on scene had applied immediate first aid to the DI probably saving his life. Unfortunately that same doctor was only one man and had no time to treat the suspect causing the suspect to lose his hand after three hours of surgery once he'd been transferred to an unnamed hospital. That was all that the reporters and population needed to know.


	8. Thursday

**Disclaimer: Well, here we are again. No they're still not mine. Did you really think BBC would give them up to an unknown American? Not happening. Only because I have no black mail material though. As soon as I dig some up I shall own them all. *Insert evil cackle***

**A/N: Yes, I'm a horrible person. Are you really just realizing this? My children have known that for the past sixteen years and it's a month until my oldest turns sixteen. Don't worry though; it'll work out in the end. I only write happy endings.**

** Also I'm not British, nor do I have any friends that are, so if any of my terms are wrong let me know. **

**Thursday**

Mycroft picked his head up from the pillow and glared at the door to his hotel room. He felt as though he'd only just fallen asleep. He had things to take care of today and this interruption did not bode well for his plans.

Groaning as the pounding refused to cease he pulled himself from the warmth of the blankets and the bed and glanced at the clock. Only 5:30 in the morning. Perfect. Why did he expect anything less? Three hours of sleep.

The pounding was now accompanied by Aurelia's voice calling for him. He may as well open the door. His assistant was excessively stubborn; it was one of the reasons he'd hired her. Giving one last wistful glance to his rumpled bed he crossed the room and opened the door.

Aurelia pushed passed him and threw open the closet door. "We have to get back to London. Now." She announced as she pulled his suitcase out and started throwing his suits into it in a haphazard manner.

Prickles of alarm washed over Mycroft. Aurelia was normally very precise and focused. Her BlackBerry was nowhere in evidence right now. "What's happened?" He questioned her in a cold voice to hide the anxiousness her actions were causing.

Aurelia glared at him. "Go retrieve your toiletries. We need to be going. Put them in your case and we'll head to the aeroport. Hurry up." She turned away from him and shoved the last of his suits into the case.

He stared at her for a moment, unprepared for her disobedience. "Aurelia," he started in a warning tone.

Her head whipped up and the fiery look in her chocolate brown eyes had him unconsciously taking a step back. "We don't have time," she hissed. "We have to get to London ASAP!"

Mycroft took another step back and bumped into the wall beside the loo. He held his hands up, palms out in a gesture of surrender. "All right," he soothed. "Just tell me what's happened while I do." He turned to the loo and gathered his things while listening for her to inform him.

The dark haired woman that had been Mycroft's assistant for longer than he cared to think about let out a growl of frustrated rage. "I don't know! The surveillance on Greg is gone. Sherlock and John's surveillance is spotty and the CCTV's didn't record anything. Something's happened and I don't know what it is!" Mycroft could hear her frantic movements as his heart stopped. "The news reports say that a murder suspect shot a police officer yesterday and Greg's not answering his mobile. Neither are Sherlock or John. John always answers me! Always!"

His hands automatically packed his toiletries away while his eyes stared unseeing before him. Greg. Possibly shot. Greg. Why hadn't he been informed before this? Greg. His husband. Greg. "Did…" his voice croaked out and broke mid-word. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Did they report anything else? Why are we only finding out now?"

Aurelia's brown eyes were swimming when he exited the loo. "Nothing," she nearly sobbed. "I've told you everything I know. I…I don't know what else to do," she admitted. "I don't know who to call, who to yell at. I'm scared now. Greg's been answering me all week and then suddenly yesterday he didn't. I thought he'd gotten caught up in his case. I didn't think anything of it. John too. He always texts me back if he doesn't call. My…what if…?" She didn't finish.

"No!" Mycroft's voice burst out. "No, they're fine. Really. I'm sure they're just busy." He felt a sense of surrealism. Shouldn't he be the one breaking down? Shouldn't he be the one going to pieces because he hadn't spoken to his husband since Sunday morning? But he wasn't. He clung to the fact that he knew, _knew_, Greg was fine. Greg had to be fine. There was no other choice. "Let's go, Aurelia. The faster we return to London the faster you'll see that they're all just fine."

Aurelia nodded and zipped up his suitcase. "My things are waiting on us downstairs," she told him in a stronger voice. "And I've called ahead to the aeroport for the plane to be waiting."

Mycroft nodded a bit numbly and followed her out of the room and into the elevator car. "He's fine," he repeated under his breath. "They're all fine."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Mycroft and Aurelia left the aeroport and headed straight to St. Bart's to find out who had been shot and why none of their family were returning their calls. Mycroft continued his "He's fine" mantra the entire way from Vienna to London and then in the car on the way to the hospital. Aurelia ignored his muttering and typed frantically on her phone trying to hack into any system that would feed her need for information.

Mycroft bolted from the car before it had completely stopped and dashed for the front doors of the hospital. Aurelia was two steps behind him when her phone vibrated an incoming text. Hoping and praying it was information she paused and opened the text.

_L injured. Get HIM here NOW._

_ -SH_

Aurelia made a sound of distress and collapsed to the ground sobbing. "M-Mycroft," she called out in a trembling voice. "It's Greg," she whispered.

Mycroft, who had turned to her, backed away slowly. "No," he denied. "You're wrong. You have to be. It's not Gregory. It's not! Where's Sherlock? He'll tell me the truth. Aurelia, where is he?"

Aurelia just shook her head and pointed towards the doors to the hospital. Mycroft scowled and helped her to her feet. "Mycroft," she began but he cut her off.

"No," he insisted. "I won't hear it." He led her into the hospital and stopped just passed the threshold as he spotted his brother staring at the doors over the crowd of people. Sherlock spotted him as well and motioned him over with an imperious wave.

Mycroft tugged his assistant behind him as he fought past the crowd of orderlies, PCs, patients and doctors. "Tell her it's a lie, Sherlock," Mycroft insisted as he stood before his taller brother.

Sherlock's cold gaze melted and he put one hand on Mycroft's shoulder. "It's not a lie, My," he said far more gently than he'd ever spoken to his brother. "Lestrade—"

"His name is Gregory and you know it," Mycroft bit out and glared at his younger brother. "Use it."

Sherlock carefully put one arm over Mycroft's shoulders and took Aurelia's hand in his own. He slowly began to lead them down one of the myriad hallways. Really he wished John was here to tell him what to say and do. John was always so much better at the comforting thing. "He's alive." Sherlock knew he needed to say that before anything else. "Greg was at a crime scene. The perpetrator returned and opened fire on the police. Greg hid behind one of the skips and a bullet ricocheted off of a wall and then the skip and embedded in his head. He's still alive and the bullet didn't penetrate his skull."

Mycroft let out a sound that was half sob half laugh. "Gregory always did say he was hard headed."

Sherlock gave his brother a small smirk. "Oh he is. John's speaking with his doctors and will give us more information when he has it. For now, the most we can do is wait. Gregory's in surgery at the moment to remove the bullet. They said they had to wait for some of the swelling in his brain to go down before they even attempted removal. As soon as he's moved to a private room we'll be able to see him."

Mycroft squeezed the hand hanging over his shoulder and nodded. "He'll be all right, won't he?" Aurelia asked in a quivering tone.

Sherlock drew in a deep breath. He stopped and tuned so that he could look at them both. "Head wounds are tricky," he stalled. Seeing them both gazing at him somberly he sighed. "They don't know. He could wake up after his surgery and be fine. He could have all sorts of problems, speech impediments, blindness, nervous system errors, or anything really." He resumed his previous position between them. "He could also just not wake up."

Mycroft rubbed the bridge of his nose with one finger and resumed his mantra. "He'll be fine. He'll be just fine."


	9. Friday and Saturday

**Disclaimer: Yay! Last night BBC called me and gave me Lestrade if I'd stop whining about not having the Sherlock characters. Isn't that wonderful? I'm so happy. Right. Sure. If you believe that one then I've got some prime beach front real estate in Yuma, Arizona going spare. Want to buy it from me? Still not mine and I make no money from these stories.**

**A/N: Thank everyone for sticking with this and to the reviewers that I am unable to reply too: I really appreciate each and every review. They make me feel good. Even the bad ones…which seriously I haven't had. I thank you from the bottom of my heart and should you every join the site and leave me a review I'll reply to each one. I always do. Now on with the story.**

**Friday and Saturday**

**Friday**

The beeping had become a background noise that he didn't really hear more quickly than Mycroft could have imagined. That steady beeping meant that Gregory still lived. It meant there was a chance his husband would get better. At the moment Gregory was in a medically induced coma which meant that it was very possible he'd wake when the drugs were out of his system. He was also breathing on his own, another excellent sign.

For the first time since Gregory had been moved into this room Mycroft was alone with his husband. Sherlock and John had taken Aurelia, now Atriebiba, to the cafeteria. The doctors and nurses had other duties and had only popped in to adjust the IV drip or check on Gregory's vitals.

Knowing he was completely alone Mycroft let his mask fall and leaned his head down on the bed by Gregory's hip and clasped one of the limp hands in his own. "Please come back to me, Gregory," he whispered. "Please don't leave me alone. I can't do this without you."

Sherlock stopped John before they could enter the room and the two headed back to the waiting room to give Mycroft a few more minutes alone. "He's going to be a basketcase for a while," John observed.

"It's not the first time Lestrade's been injured on the job, John," Sherlock scoffed. "It's not even the first time he's been in hospital."

John rolled his stiff shoulder and shook his head. "But they weren't fighting then, were they?" He sat on one of the hard hospital chairs with a wince that had Sherlock sitting beside him and squeezing his scarred shoulder to try and massage some of the pain out.

Sherlock dug his fingers into the muscle and John groaned in pleasure and relief. "They're not fighting now."

John snorted his disagreement. "Maybe not fighting but there's definitely something wrong between them."

Sherlock nodded. "I hate it when Mycroft meddles. But if they haven't fixed things a week after Lestrade wakes up then we'll…nudge them."

John smiled and nodded before laying his head on his husband's shoulder and closing his eyes. He thanked God every day for finding this crazy, brilliant man for him to love and be loved by.

**Saturday**

"Mycroft," Sherlock's voice intruded on his dream of the first time he'd seen Gregory and Mycroft scowled before he opened his eyes. "Mycroft, wake up."

Mycroft gave his brother a baleful glare. "Why?" He asked harshly. Then his eyes widened and hope washed over him. "Is Gregory awake?"

Sherlock shook his head with a frown. "They want to take him for some tests. He should have woken from the medication last night."

Mycroft's glare grew in intensity. "I know that," he snapped and then drew in a breath. "Fine. Why are you waking me to tell me they're taking him for tests and what time is it?"

Sherlock grinned one of his shark-like grins. "They can't take him when you are attached to his hand like sticky tape. It's almost seven, brother dear."

Mycroft reluctantly let go of Gregory's hand and stood up to stretch. Two orderlies wheeled Gregory's bed from the room under his critical eye. So many tubes and monitors. Mycroft swung his gaze back to his brother. "I thought you and John had gone home to sleep."

Sherlock shrugged and flopped down in the chair Mycroft had just vacated. "We did. I came back. Where's Aurelia?"

"Artiebiba now," Mycroft corrected. "She's off finding out why Gregory's security failed. It only took one phone call to find out why yours did."

Sherlock pulled out his mobile and started typing. "Hmm, vengeance," he murmured. "Good name."

"Pardon?" Mycroft spluttered. "What are you talking about, Sherlock?"

Gray eyes slowly met his. "Artiebiba. It's Latvian for vengeance. Didn't you know? You're slipping, brother."

Mycroft sank into a chair beside his brother. "That certainly explains her sudden need to check on all the security teams. Your team simply got lax as I hadn't been pressing them for information as much as I used to."

Sherlock sneered. "Because it's so much easier to kidnap my husband and press him for information on me."

Mycroft allowed himself a smirk. "More fun that way too. I quite enjoy having tea with your husband. He has an interesting view on the world and you."

Sherlock shot him a contemptuous look before returning his attention to his mobile. "Really?" He drawled. "Then tell me; when was the last time you did so?" Mycroft opened his mouth to give him a scathing retort only to shut it in shock when he couldn't remember. "When was the last time you dropped by 221B?" Sherlock continued. "When did you bother Mrs. Hudson last? Or Molly? Or called Mother?" Sherlock set his mobile down in his lap. "Can't remember?" He pierced Mycroft with those gray otherworldly eyes. "I didn't think you could. At least five months for each of those questions, Mycroft."

Mycroft's jaw worked as his brain sped to deny those facts. "That's ridiculous, Sherlock. It can't have been that long. I know I've been busy but it hasn't been that bad. What are you driving at?"

"That your husband isn't the only person in your social circle that you've been neglecting." Sherlock held up a hand to stop Mycroft's spluttering denials. "Stop it. You can call it anything you like but you've been neglecting all of us. The others are all very understanding," he sneered the word as though the taste of it was disgusting. "I am not. You are hurting all of them and I…care about them. I will not allow you to hurt them anymore by your inattention. Either shape up or I'll cut you out of their lives for good." His eyes blazed. "And you know I can and will do it, brother." His words ringing in the still air Sherlock stood up and strode from the room.

Mycroft watched his baby brother stride away in shock. Had he really just threatened him? Well, yes, threats from Sherlock were frequent but the fire in his eyes had told exactly how much he meant it this time. Mycroft leaned forward and put his head in his hands. What had he done? How was he going to fix this mess?


	10. Week Two: Sunday

**Disclaimer: No money being made off of this or any other of my stories which use characters that I have no claim too. Wish I did. Then I'd be rich and I'd buy an island in the middle of the ocean and kidnap Alan Rickman, Richard Dean Anderson, Rupert Graves and Vin Diesel…maybe some others. Then I'd take my best friend and we'd…er, yeah, you get the picture. For now though they're all safe as I'm poor.**

**A/N: So…hunh, I have nothing to say. Weird. I always have something to say. Well, guess I'd better let you read hadn't I?**

**Week Two: Sunday**

It was the beeping that woke him. At least he thought it was the beeping. He couldn't quite bring his thoughts together yet. He felt like he'd been asleep for a very long time. Maybe he had. It would be nice. He hadn't been able to sleep much for the past…however long it had been before this nap.

He thought about opening his eyes to check the time but his eyelids were too heavy. He was far too relaxed to worry about time anyway. It didn't matter. There wasn't anything he needed to do right now, was there?

A trickle of thought about a woman and a coffee stain swept through him but he couldn't quite catch it. He wasn't attracted to women and he didn't drink coffee. Well, he did but he preferred tea usually. Coffee made him jittery.

Another image disrupted the first. A man. A man in an alley wearing a uniform shirt from a coffee shop. He was holding a gun. It was illegal for civilians to carry firearms. Was he undercover? That didn't quite feel right.

A flash of light. A loud bang. Pain. His head feeling like it would explode. Blackness. Oh. He'd been shot. Shot in the head. So why wasn't he dead? Was he dead? He didn't think so.

For a moment he felt like laughing. How many men were shot in the head and survived? It was good to be alive. He must be one lucky son of a bitch. Then he remembered the rest. Maybe not so lucky after all. After all, he'd survived being shot in the head but he hadn't seen his husband since…well the Sunday before he'd been shot. However long ago that was.

Part of him wondered if Mycroft had even come by the hospital while he'd been out. Based on the past few months he really doubted it. He could always open his eyes and find out, he supposed. He really didn't want his suspicions confirmed though. Yet, a large part of him longed for the stupid man. He wanted Mycroft to be there. He had to know.

Everything was a bit blurry and dark at first and then his eyes adjusted. Carefully he turned his head a bit and winced at the spike of pain. There was A. Curled up in one of the God awful hospital chairs, sound asleep. Her ever present BlackBerry balancing precariously on the arm. So Mycroft was back in the country then.

Even more carefully he lifted his head a bit and peered around the room, searching the shadows. No Mycroft. Really, he asked himself, why had he hoped? He let his head fall back onto the thin pillow and huffed out a quiet groan at the sudden pain.

He closed his eyes, letting a single tear escape. He may as well just go back to sleep and hopefully he'd stay in the welcoming, comforting darkness forever this time.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Moments after Greg's eyes closed a shaft of light briefly lit the dim room. Mycroft quickly shut off the light from the loo and headed back to his place across the bed from Artiebiba. He stared at the monitors for a moment before taking Greg's hand in his own, leaning back and closing his own eyes.

Still no change. "Come back Gregory," he whispered softly into the dark silence of the room. "Please come back to me."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

It was the voices this time that woke him. He knew it was the voices because he woke up irritated. He knew those voices. He wanted to growl at them all to shut up and leave but he knew it would be useless. The Holmes boys never listened to anyone when they were arguing, least of all their husbands.

"You're really going to go now?" Sherlock was saying in a rather harsh voice. "In case it has escaped your attention, Mycroft, your husband is in a coma! And you're planning on leaving him here while you gallivant off to see to some minor problem in Sudan? I wasn't joking the other night." He hissed ominously.

"It cannot be helped." Mycroft answered. "What good am I doing here? Gregory is in a coma, Sherlock! He can neither hear nor see me! He doesn't even know whether I'm here or not. It will take less than a day to straighten out the mess in Sudan."

"And what are we supposed to tell him if he wakes while you're gone?" Sherlock asked archly. "That his husband didn't care enough to stick around? That he decided to bugger off to Africa because staying here with him was too much work?"

"Why can you not understand?" Mycroft's voice rose in an uncharacteristic shout. "I can't stay here and do nothing! I can't stand seeing him like this! He's not supposed to be so still. Gregory's always moving. He's always so full of energy and now…now he's lying there so still. I can't…it hurts."

"So you're just going to run away?" Sherlock sneered. "Falling back into old habits, brother? Run away when something gets too difficult? I had thought Lestrade had cured you of that." Sherlock stopped for a moment and when he began speaking again the controlled fury in his voice nearly had Greg shivering. "Go on then. But don't expect us to be here when you get back. I warned you what would happen if you continued to be neglectful."

"I would think that would be up to the individuals in question, don't you?" Mycroft's cold tone nearly matched his brother's in the scope of its fury. "Now then, Artiebiba, do tell Gregory I will be back soon should he waken."

The hand that Greg only just became aware of holding his hand clamped in a viselike grip. "No," said a soft feminine voice. "I'll tell him the truth."

"Pardon me?" Mycroft asked in an icy tone.

Greg could hear A stand up though her grip on his hand never faltered. "I will not lie to your husband again. He deserves better than empty platitudes and excuses. Fire me if you wish but I will not tell him that you will be back soon when I know that as soon as you're finished in Sudan another crisis will pop up out of nowhere and you'll be off again. Avoiding us. Avoiding him because you don't want to feel anything."

Brittle silence filled the small room. Greg wondered why John wasn't putting in his two pence but decided that it didn't matter much. He also decided this had gone on long enough. Tempers were high because they were all worried about him. It hurt like mad that Mycroft was leaving but he really should have expected that. There was no way this conversation was going to end well unless he did something.

An idea sparked in his brain and even though part of him said it was a crappy thing to do he went with it. Greg let out a soft groan and blinked his eyes open.

"Greg!" A screamed. "You're awake! Sherlock, call in the doctors. Greg's awake! Greg, can you hear me?" She dropped his hand and leaned over his bed placing both hands on his cheeks. He heard the rush of movement signaling Sherlock's obedience and the clatter of A's BlackBerry meeting the floor.

"Would be hard not to the way you're screaming," Greg said hoarsely. "Can I get some water?"

A disappeared from his field of vision and Sherlock's face was suddenly peering down at him. "Welcome back, Lestrade," he said in his most disinterested tone. The one that meant he was deeply affected by something and was hiding it for all he was worth.

"Hey," Greg croaked. "What happened?" A straw touched his lips and he took a drink of the cool water.

"You were shot, idiot," Sherlock told him and then stepped back and Mycroft leaned over the bed rail.

"Gregory? You are awake," his voice was full of wonder. "I'm so glad you're back with us."

Greg frowned up at him. "Hello," he said. "Are you one of my doctors? How badly was I shot? Why does my head hurt so much?"


	11. Week Two: Sunday II

**Disclaimer: I have a dream…oops, wrong speech. Sorry about that. Though I do have plenty of dreams most of them involving Lestrade. Unfortunately there's a BIG difference between dreams and reality. Too bad. If dreams were reality then I'd have my Lestrade and a bunch of others but since it's not I don't. Everyone confused now? I'm not. I could try harder but then I'd forget the whole point of a disclaimer is to point out that I own nothing and that because of copyright laws I'm poor. In simply layman's terms: Sherlock and the rest are not mine and I make no money from amusing you.**

**A/N: Yes, Greg is going to be evil. Yes, Mycroft is going to be penitent. Yes, the rest are going to be amused. This will be an enjoyable ride for everyone else. Have fun in my little world. On another note: Please don't hate Mycroft. He's fallen into a very easy trap for anyone. Life becomes hectic and everything just falls to the wayside. If my children didn't demand my attention on a daily basis I'm sure I'd forget I even had them…well, not forget but you get the point. People get busy and forget things, sometimes important things. Mycroft wasn't trying to cut himself off from everyone he just forgot that relationships need input and work from all parties.**

**Week Two: Sunday II**

Any answer Mycroft was going to make was interrupted by the arrival of the doctors and nurses. They gently pushed Artiebiba, Sherlock and Mycroft away from the bed and surrounded Greg.

"Do you know your name," one of the doctors asked Greg. He'd evidently been voted the spokesman for the group as all the others remained silent.

Greg wished they hadn't moved A away. She was holding the water and his throat was so dry. "Lestrade," he ground out and then tried to clear his throat. "Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade," he clarified. "Water?"

"Very good," the doctor grinned. "You may have more water in just a moment Detective Inspector. Do you know the date today?"

Greg glared at him. "Look Doc, I know you have to ask these questions but asking a man who has been asleep for who knows how long what the date is, is kinda stupid, ennit? I know the Prime Minister is David Cameron and I was shot on August 7th, 2013. Now give me some water before I die of dehydration."

Silence filled the room for a moment before A's musical giggle broke it. She gently pushed her way past the doctors and nurses and held the straw to his lips again. Greg nodded to her and then looked back at the doctors expectantly. The spokesman cleared his throat. "Yes, well, do you remember what happened?"

"Vaguely," Greg answered. "Woman with a coffee stain? Second one this week." His eyes glazed a bit as he thought. "There's something important about the coffee…"

Sherlock opened his mouth but Mycroft gripped his arm in a vise grip to prevent his comment. "That's very interesting, Detective Inspector but not—" the lead doctor started.

"Potassium in the coffee? Guy with a gun wearing a uniform shirt from a coffee shop…right." Greg continued as though no one had spoken. He blinked and then looked up at all of them. "So I was shot by a coffee shop barrista? How stupid. From the pain in my head and nowhere else I'd say that meant he shot me in the head." He paused. "No that isn't right. He tried to shoot me but the bullet ricocheted off the wall or something and then hit me in the head. If it hadn't then I'd be dead."

The lead doctor grinned. "Very good," he praised. "There are some other tests we'd like to preform, just to make sure everything works as it should but your memory seems to be fine—"

"Fine!" Mycroft exploded. "His memory is not fine! He doesn't even know who I am! Ask him who the rest of us are."

Greg, with A's help, carefully propped himself up on his elbows and regarded the other man seriously. "Of course I know who you are," he said levelly. Then he turned his attention to Sherlock. "He's Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective and married to," he paused. "Where's John?"

"He had a shift at the surgery," Sherlock answered promptly. "Sarah said she'd fire him as he hadn't been in for four days and it's flu season. I told him you wouldn't mind if you woke up."

Greg sent him a small smirk. "Best text him I'm awake, Sher, you know he'll be angry if you don't." Sherlock held up his phone in a signal that he already had. Greg turned his attention to A. "She's A…no idea what name she's chosen for herself today. She's a friend." He turned his gaze to Mycroft then and the smile disappeared to be replaced by a bland look. "And you're her boss and Sherlock's brother…Mycroft, I think. Thank you for being here for them. It's very kind of you."

Everyone in the room stared at him in shocked silence for a moment. "You see!" Mycroft burst out. "There's something wrong! Take him for an MRI and a CAT scan! Find out what's wrong with my husband!"

"Husband?" Greg breathed out faintly and then collapsed backwards on the bed. "I'm not married…am I?"

A was once again pushed out of the way as the doctors converged on Greg's bed. They checked pupil dilation, vitals, temperature, everything they could while still in the room and then the lead doctor ordered another MRI and CAT scan of his head before stepping back with a frown. "Detective Inspector," he began. "Can you tell us the significance of August 4th?"

Greg gazed at him with a wary eye. "Are you sure you want me to answer that? I like history."

The doctor gave him a deprecating smile. "Let's just keep it to any important events in this century."

Greg frowned. He could have named off every significant event for the past thousand years. "2002: Jessica Chapman and Holly Wells, aged 10, turn up missing from Soham, Cambridgeshire. 2005: Canada's Prime Minister, Paul Martin, announces Michaelle Jean as Canada's 27th Governor General, also first black one. 2006: Sylvia Cartwright steps down as New Zealand's Governor General. 2007: The Phoenix spaceship is launched." Greg paused and motioned A over for another drink, to cover the fact that August 4th 2007 was his wedding day. "2010: California's Prop. 8, the one banning same-sex marriage is overturned. 2012: Suicide bombing kills 45 people in Yemen and Oscar Pistorius becomes the first amputee to compete in the Olympics. You sure that's all you want? Because I could go back for at least 1000 years."

"August 4th, 2007 doesn't mean anything to you personally, Lestrade?" Sherlock questioned sharply. He placed his mobile back in his pocket and advanced on the crowd surrounding the bed.

Greg looked over at him and frowned. "Not that I can recall," he admitted after a moment's thought. "Should it?"

"Yes," Mycroft bit out and moved to stand next to Greg's head. "That's the day we married, Gregory. Do you really not remember it?" Mycroft stared into his husband's unblinking, confused brown eyes and felt a bit of his heart break. "You don't, do you? You've forgotten me."

Greg nearly caved at the pain in Mycroft's voice and eyes but the memory of the long, cold, lonely nights, the silent, empty house and silent phone skittered across his mind and firmed his resolve. "Sorry?" He said inadequately.

"We should take him for those tests now," the doctor broke the moment and gently pulled Mycroft from the side of the bed. "You're welcome to walk with us but you'll have to wait outside while we run the machines."

Mycroft cleared his throat and glared at the doctor. "Do you wish me to accompany you, Gregory?" He asked.

Greg shrugged a bit uncomfortably. His head was really beginning to pound in concert with his heartbeat. "If you want to," he said quietly and settled back into the pillow.

Mycroft nodded. "I do." He stopped his hand before it could smooth itself over Greg's cheek, not at all sure how the other man would take the gesture. "I won't leave your side."

Greg let his eyes fall closed. He wasn't sure he believed Mycroft but his husband's soft words gave him a little bit of hope that they could fix whatever had happened between them. As the orderlies wheeled the bed from the room the last thing he felt before the blackness claimed him again was Mycroft wrapping one hand around his own and squeezing.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Sherlock watched the exchange between Mycroft and Lestrade closely. There was something just a bit off about the Detective Inspector. He narrowed his eyes in thought. The bed was wheeled from the room and Mycroft took Lestrade's hand in his own. Sherlock's eyes widened in realization. "I would guess my brother won't be going to Sudan, then." He said and a slow smile crossed his lips.

"It would seem not," Artiebiba agreed. She sighed heavily. "Why can he remember everything except Mr. H.?"

Sherlock swallowed a chuckle and stared at the woman somberly. "I would imagine that Lestrade's brain erased Mycroft because he's been so distant. Lestrade's already injured and so his brain is trying to keep him from being hurt further." It sounded plausible actually. That was all that mattered to Sherlock. He'd keep Greg's secret and have some fun watching his brother squirm. Mycroft would learn that he couldn't just ignore his family and Sherlock would help his friend teach that lesson if only by keeping his own counsel.


	12. Week Two: Monday

**Disclaimer: Nope. Still not mine. Should be used to that by now but I am an eternal optimist.**

**A/N: Told you evilness was coming. Yes Sherlock knows what Greg is doing and no, he's not going to tell anyone. Sherlock can be extremely evil too. Let me know what you think.**

**Week Two: Monday**

There were no voices this time. The beeping was still there but he'd become used to it and it hadn't been what woke him either. No, what woke him was the amount of inappropriate light streaming through the windows and falling across his face. Why hadn't anyone closed the curtains? How inconsiderate.

"I wanted to talk to you before the others come back, Lestrade. That's why the curtains are open," Sherlock's voice broke into his thoughts.

Greg stamped down his irritation. There were other ways of waking someone. "Good morning, Sherlock," Greg said instead and blinked his eyes open.

Sherlock's face loomed over him. "Are you awake enough now?" Sherlock asked blandly. "This is important."

Greg frowned his irritation at his brother-in-law. "You always think anything you have to say is important."

Sherlock smirked at him. "It is."

Greg grabbed the controls of the bed and pushed the button to make it rise up some so that he was sitting while he glared at Sherlock. "What's so important then?" He asked as he settled into the new position.

"What you're doing to Mycroft," Sherlock started.

"I'm not intentionally doing anything to him," Greg interrupted with a confused look. "I don't remember him being my husband. For all I know this could be some elaborate joke you thought up."

Greg's eyes widened when Sherlock threw his head back and laughed joyously. "Oh, that would have been excellent," Sherlock gasped out when he'd calmed down some. "Wonder why I never thought of it? Hmm, something to look into in the future."

"Sherlock," Greg growled warningly. "What are you on about?"

Sherlock shook his head. "You don't have amnesia, Lestrade." His tone of finality penetrated Greg's shock at his words. "I approve of you pretending too though. Mycroft is an idiot at times. He needs someone to keep him in line. He chose you for that job."

Greg swallowed and stared at the younger man. "How did you figure it out, Sher? I'd thought I was being so careful."

"I've known from the moment you started this," Sherlock boasted. "You were far to calm and accepting of being married to a man you didn't know to be doing anything other than pretending."

Greg swallowed hard again. "You're going to tell him, aren't you? He's your brother. Of course you're going to tell him that I'm faking."

"He won't tell," Artiebiba's voice broke into the conversation from the door. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

Both men stared in shock at the dark haired woman. "What?" Sherlock finally managed to ask.

"Mr. H. has been a jerk for months and he won't listen to me," she explained. "Greg's plan is a good one as long as we can keep Mr. H. off balance. Greg can't do it alone. You and I are going to help him convince his husband that he has no memory of their time together. But we'll have to keep this between the three of us."

"Four," Sherlock corrected her. "I have to tell John. He's worried enough, he doesn't need more stress. Besides he can help." Sherlock's gray eyes locked on Artiebiba's.

She nodded slowly. "Four then. I'll try to keep Mr. H. as distracted as I can without letting him work too much but you three will have to do your part."

Greg cleared his throat. "Do you really think this will work?" He asked seriously. "I only did it yesterday because I was angry with him for ignoring me for so long. I didn't intend to keep it going past today or tomorrow. He's going to figure it out."

Sherlock and Artiebiba regarded him somberly. "My idiot brother needs to learn to not neglect those he supposedly loves, Lestrade. We can manage convincing him you don't remember him for long enough to remind him why he has relationships in the first place."

Artiebiba nodded. "He's neglecting all of us. You the worst, Greg, but he's hurting us with his distance. I don't know why he's so…cold and cut off but maybe we'll find out why if he thinks he's got to help you remember him."

Greg let out a heavy sigh and sank back into his pillows. "All right," he agreed. "I'll play this for one week after I get out of here. But only ONE week. If he's still being…well, cold and unemotional and distant at the end of that week he and I will need to have a conversation about our future because I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"Agreed," Artiebiba and Sherlock said together.

"He'll come around, Greg," Artiebiba said comfortingly and took her seat beside Greg's bed before picking up his hand and squeezing it. "He does love you very much."

Greg squeezed her hand back and contemplated the ceiling. "I wonder sometimes," he admitted softly before allowing himself to doze off.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Come along, John," Sherlock grasped his husband's arm as soon as he and Mycroft had stridden through the door. "Molly texted for an update and so we're going to go see her." John opened his mouth to protest but Sherlock just kept pulling him from the room. "Lestrade's asleep; you can talk to him later. Come along."

John ceased his struggling and his protests, knowing that arguing with his husband was useless when he was like this. Artiebiba shook her head with a small smile at the pair while Mycroft watched them leave with a bit of bemusement.

John pulled his arm from his husband's grasp after the door clicked shut and glared at him. "What is this really about, Sherlock?" He asked in an accusing tone. "I know Molly didn't text you."

"How could you possibly know that Molly didn't text me?" Sherlock scoffed and continued walking down the hallway.

John hurried to catch up with his husband's long legged gait. "Because she texted me while Mycroft was speaking to Dr. Grant."

Sherlock stopped walking abruptly, grabbed John's bicep and turned him so he could look the shorter man in the eye. "Does Mycroft know that she texted you?" He asked urgently.

John frowned at Sherlock. "I didn't tell him who had texted me," he said slowly. "I don't think he even knows I got a text, actually. He was rather busy berating Dr. Grant and commanding the man to order more tests."

Sherlock blew out a relieved breath. "Good. Now come with me to tell Dr. Grant that it is your recommendation that Lestrade recuperate at home." He pulled on John's arm to encourage the smaller man to walk with him.

"And why exactly am I doing that?" John asked in a hiss. "Greg can't remember Mycroft. His husband. They need to run tests and find out why he can remember everything except his husband."

Sherlock let out a quiet snicker. "Because Lestrade's memory is fine. He's teaching Mycroft a lesson."

It only took a few seconds for John to let out a snicker of his own. "Devious," he breathed. "I like it." He paused and looked up into his husband's unearthly gray eyes. "We'll have to stay at their place, you know. Greg's got a head injury and should really have someone with medical training near at hand."

Sherlock wrestled briefly within himself with his need for his own space and his need to protect his family before nodding grudgingly. "Fine. One week and then we go home. Lestrade is only going to keep the charade up for a week after he gets out anyway."

"Any complications from the injury should have become evident by then so, agreed," John nodded. "Let's go find Dr. Grant."


	13. Week Two: Tuesday

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. Own a box of Wheat Thins but I'm selfish and I refuse to share. Ha! They're mine! Mine, I tell you!**

**A/N: To my guest reviewers: I thank you. Love the reviews as always. As I can't reply to you individually I'll just say (again) a collective thank you. On with the story.**

**Week Two: Tuesday**

It had taken a bit of fast talking and empty promises for the doctors to agree to release Greg after only one more night under observation but John had managed it. He wasn't sure that this was the best idea they'd ever had but he went with it to make his husband and his best friend happy.

It shocked him, exactly what lengths he'd go to for his cobbled together family. Especially when paired alongside how far he went to stay away from what was left of his birth family and how far he'd gone his whole life to avoid them. Had Harry come up with this fool plan he would have been the first to shoot it down as ridiculous but as Greg had thought it up he just went along with it and helped with fooling the doctors.

As he signed his name to another form taking responsibility for Greg's care he thought of calling a stop to this game. Greg's broken, depressed expression last Monday flitted across his mind's eye followed quickly by the shattered, tearful one on Mycroft's face when he'd finally shown up at the hospital. No, they needed to learn how to reconnect and this was the best idea any of them had. John wouldn't let this family fall apart like the last one had.

"Here you are, Dr. Grant, all filled out and signed." John handed over the sheaf of forms to the older doctor.

Dr. Grant reluctantly took the papers and sighed. "I'm going to say, once again, that I believe this to be a very bad idea, Dr. Watson. Detective Inspector Lestrade still shows no sign of remembering his husband and we still haven't determined the cause. There is also the fact that he claims all of his food has no taste to it. Those two facts are worrying and could be symptoms of something more serious."

John regarded the other man evenly. "I am aware of the issues surrounding Greg's injury. He wants to go home. He hates hospitals, always has. He will be more relaxed at home and being surrounded by the evidence of his life with Mycroft he may regain his memory that much faster." John's brow furrowed in thought. "As to the lack of taste in his food…well, you have been feeding him bland hospital food. Hospital food never has any taste. If the lack of flavor continues we'll address that issue with his GP."

Dr. Grant frowned. "I was under the impression that you were his GP."

John snorted a bit. "I'm one of them," he explained. "I'm the one Greg prefers but his husband's position in the government means he has several."

Dr. Grant sighed and nodded. "Well, while I oppose this with every fiber of my being, I suppose there's nothing I can say to change your minds."

"Not a thing," John agreed cheerfully before turning around and heading back to Greg's room to prepare him for the trip home.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Greg groaned in pleasure as he sank into the large, comfortable sofa in his and Mycroft's parlour. He loved this sofa. It was long enough and wide enough to fit both he and Mycroft with a bit of wiggle room. It was so good to be home. Even though his home would soon be invaded by his brothers-in-law he found he didn't mind. This house had been silent for too long. Knowing his friends and coworkers this house would soon be full to bursting with people and noise. It would be nice later but for now he was content to bask in the quiet breaths of his husband.

"Gregory?" Mycroft concerned voice reached out to him through the pleasure of finally being able to relax. "Are you all right? Where does it hurt?"

Greg opened one eye and nearly startled at the face that was so close to his own. He blinked both eyes open and gave a soft smile. "I'm fine. I like your sofa," he admitted. "It's so soft."

Mycroft frowned and pulled away. "You picked it out." He forced himself to smile at the husband that didn't remember him. "Frankly, I'm usually afraid that it will eat me."

Greg grinned. "I can see why." He cleared his throat and looked around the room as much as he could without moving his head. "So," he paused, not exactly sure what to say. He'd never been uncomfortable around Mycroft before. Not even the first time Mycroft had kidnapped him. He grasped onto the idea. "How did we meet exactly?"

A pink color tinged Mycroft's cheekbones and his eyes wouldn't meet Greg's. "Wouldn't you rather know about our wedding?" He asked in a suspiciously bland voice.

Greg's mouth stretched into a huge grin. "Must be very embarrassing then," he chuckled and then hissed as his head pounded to the beat of his heart. "If it's going to make me laugh then never mind. The embarrassing stories can wait for tomorrow."

Mycroft forced himself not to hover over Greg and seated himself in one of the armchairs to the side of the sofa. "Would you like some of your pain medication?" He didn't think Greg would accept the offer. Greg hated taking any drugs, prescription or not. But maybe his pain was bad enough to warrant the use of the pain medication or he didn't remember his dislike for drugs.

Greg breathed evenly. "Nah, I'm good. Just don't make me laugh." Greg closed his eyes again. "Tell me a story about us," he half asked, half ordered.

Mycroft shifted in his seat and frowned. "Why?"

Greg turned his head towards him and opened one eye to give him a serious look. "Because it might help me remember you."

Caught in those earnest brown eyes Mycroft nodded and settled back. "I warn you I am not a very good story teller."

Greg closed his eye again and settled back into the cushions. "I'm sure I don't care. Tell me something nice. Something about us. Something that isn't about an argument or a fight or something sad."

Mycroft leaned forward in his chair intent on his husband's relaxed form. "Why would you think we fight? Have you remembered something?"

Greg let out a soft breath. "No," he denied. "I know exactly how stubborn I am. I also know what your brother is like. There is no way on Earth that our relationship is all sweetness and light, Mycroft. If you don't want to tell me then I'll just wait for Sherlock and John to get back and pick their brains." He tried very hard to keep the hurt from his voice and the sense of rejection from overwhelming him.

"No, no, it's fine," Mycroft swiftly objected. "I just wanted to be sure it was what you wanted, Gregory." Mycroft was silent for a moment as he racked his brain for a good story to tell his husband. It wasn't that he couldn't think of any, rather that he thought of far too many. "How about I tell you about the time I took you to Tokyo for dinner."

"Dinner? In Japan?" Greg's voice was amused. "You mean we flew from London to Japan, had dinner and flew back?"

"There was a bit more to it than that," Mycroft told him vaguely. "Hush now and let me tell the story."


	14. Week Two: Tuesday II

**Disclaimer: They're not mine! I didn't steal them, officer! I just found them tied up in the back of my car, I swear. I was just on my way to return them. What do you mean this is the road to the airport? Is it really? Well, I've never been to London before so you'll have to forgive me for getting lost. Of course I have a plane waiting on me I was headed home when Sherlock, John and Greg appeared in the backseat of the car I'd rented. I had nothing to do with it. **

**A/N: This chapter is mostly if not all flashbacks. Mycroft is telling Greg about things they've done together in an attempt to get Greg to remember him and their life together. Let me know what you think and if you have any ideas of things they could have done together and you'd like me to put them into this story let me know and I'll try to work them in.**

**Week Two: Tuesday II**

"Gregory."

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade looked up from the mountain of paperwork on his desk at the sound of that voice coming from his office doorway. "Mycroft," he greeted with a grin.

Mycroft allowed himself to smile back at his husband of two years and one month. "Busy then?" He asked as he strode into the small office and claimed a seat across the desk.

Greg shrugged easily and leaned back in his chair. "No more than usual, Myc, why? Come to whisk me away from this drudgery and lock me up in a tower to await your pleasure?" Greg batted his eyelashes at Mycroft and tried to assume an innocent expression.

Mycroft threw his head back and laughed. "Whisk you away, yes," he admitted when he'd calmed a bit. Gregory was grinning in pleasure at him and Mycroft couldn't help but grin back. "Lock you up in a tower to await my pleasure? Not exactly though the idea does have merit." Mycroft stood up and held a hand out for Gregory. "I've told your superiors that I need your assistance with a top secret mission and that you won't be back until tomorrow. I'm not entirely sure they believed me but I find I couldn't care less."

Greg stood and grasped his husband's hand. "I couldn't either," he assured him. "Let's go."

Of course it couldn't be that easy, Mycroft realized as Gregory locked his office door. "Lestrade," a voice called out to the DI and both men turned to see who it was.

"Donovan?" Greg questioned in a tight voice. He had a date with his husband and she was going to keep them talking forever. She never had liked either of the Holmes brothers. "Can I help you with something?"

She scowled Mycroft's way and then turned back to Greg. "I've got those witness reports for the Preston case. You said you wanted to go over them again before you go to court on the 17th." She waved the file in his direction and Greg took a step back to avoid the sheaf of papers.

"Right," he sighed. "Put them in my box and I'll get to them when I get back, all right, Donovan? The trial isn't until next week anyway."

"You wanted them today," she insisted. "I really think you should take them now. Are you leaving? You can't leave. You have work to do. The requisitions are waiting for your signature. You need to sign off on those statements for the Steaders case. The coroner's report for the Daniels case is in. You really have a lot to do, Lestrade." She scowled even harder at Mycroft.

Greg smiled at Mycroft in an apologetic way. "Sorry Donovan but I have somewhere important to be. I'll take care of everything when I get back."

"Where are you going?" Donovan demanded. "I have a need to know so don't even start," she spat at Mycroft. "What happens when the Superintendent asks me where you are?"

Mycroft gave her a cold look. "I assure you Colin has far more important things to do than keep track of one errant Detective Inspector." His ever present umbrella made a soft tapping sound as he played with it.

Knowing that tapping meant irritated impatience Greg tried to soothe both of them. "The orders to accompany Mycroft came from higher up anyway," Greg pointed out. "I'm sure Chief Superintendent Grange knows exactly where I'm going."

Donovan watched them leave in jealous and impotent fury. Lestrade would never listen to her about the Holmes brothers.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Mycroft stopped for a moment and looked over at the sofa where his husband lay. Gregory's breathing was deep and even. Mycroft shook his head with a fond smile. Had his voice really put the other man to sleep? That was good actually. It meant that deep down Gregory still trusted him. A man like Gregory didn't fall asleep in another's presence without some degree of trust.

Mycroft simply sat and watched his husband sleep peacefully. He had missed this. He hadn't realized how long it had been since the last time he'd simply sat in peace and watched Gregory sleep or work or eat or do any of a hundred things. Gregory watching was one of his favorite past times and always had been.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

_Flashback_

The CCTV camera panned over the crime scene and seemed to come to a stop while pointing at one person. The gray haired man was oblivious of the camera as he surveyed the scene before him with his hands on his hips and shook his head. His mouth moved but the camera had no sound and so the observer on the other end had no idea what was said. The gray haired man waved a hand and officers scurried about the scene in renewed activity.

The observer sighed. This had to be one of the stupidest things he'd ever done. The gray haired man would discover that he was being stalked soon enough and then there would be Hell to pay. The observer slowly moved his hand towards the shut off switch for the monitor when movement on the screen caught his attention.

The gray haired man had turned to face the camera head on. He lifted one hand in a wave and grinned cheekily before turning back to the coppers.

The observer's hand shot out disconnecting the monitor. How had he known? Great now his brother would find out and then he'd tell everyone that he was stalking DI Lestrade through the CCTV cameras. When had his life become so complicated?

He gave the monitor a heated glare almost hoping to melt the thing. Really how was it possible for one man to be so utterly perfect? It wasn't which meant that the DI was hiding something or that he just hadn't seen some quirk of Lestrade's that made them incompatible. He needed to redouble his efforts.

Unable to help himself he reached out for the monitor again, flicking it on and allowing the image of the handsome DI fill his senses. Maybe it was a good thing there was no sound. If Mycroft had to hear Gregory's voice as well as see him then things would no doubt get messy.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Things had become messy with Gregory in the end. In a very good way. Mycroft trained his gaze on his husband again and sighed. Things had become messy in a very bad way now and he had no idea how to fix them, especially as Gregory didn't remember anything about their life together at the moment.

In that case Mycroft would simply remind him of all the good times and the bad times and then when Gregory remembered he'd get down on his knees, if he had to, and beg for his DI's forgiveness. He would never again take for granted that his family would still be there when he was done being busy. He would make sure they all knew exactly how important they all were to him.

Standing, he gently placed a blanket over his husbands slumbering form and headed outside to wait for Sherlock and John to arrive. He'd need to tell them to be quiet so that Gregory could sleep.


	15. Week Two: Wednesday

**Disclaimer: Still have no rights to the characters or any money for these stories. I have a plan though. Yep. I'm going to build a time machine and go back in time and whisper the idea for the Sherlock Holmes series in Doyle's ear. Then I will have him write a letter saying that the stories were all my idea and that 25% (I'm not greedy) of any money made from the name of Sherlock Holmes should be put in my bank account. Think it will work?**

**A/N: This story was supposed to be short and sweet. Then it grew and it's continued to grow. I'm very enthused by all of the wonderful responses I've received and I thank all of you. Hope you enjoy the rest of it as much as you have all enjoyed what I've written so far. Again thank you and on with the story.**

**Week Two: Wednesday**

"You never finished the story, Mycroft," Greg said as John helped him settle back onto the sofa and handed him a plate of toast and eggs. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"What story?" Sherlock asked from his spot on the floor in front of the massive fireplace. "Is it embarrassing for Mycroft? I know lots of those."

Mycroft gave his brother a mild glare and waved off his husband's apologies with a quiet; "You were exhausted, Gregory. It was perfectly understandable."

Greg frowned at Sherlock who looked back at him with an utterly fake innocent expression. "Shut up, Sherlock," Greg mumbled. "I don't want any embarrassing stories about Mycroft. I want him to finish telling me about whisking me off to dinner in Tokyo."

"Isn't that one of the places you two went on your honeymoon?" John asked as he came back into the room from the kitchen.

Greg forced his eyes to widen in a look of surprise. He looked up from his plate of eggs and toast and stared at his husband. Mycroft had a small tinge of pink decorating his cheekbones. "Is it really?" He asked.

Mycroft cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea before answering. "Yes. We went to Tokyo after we were married along with Sydney, Bangkok, New York, Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro. It's one of the reasons I took you to Tokyo that day. You'd found an excellent little restaurant and fell in love with the food. I thought it would be an excellent surprise for you."

Greg grinned at the list of cities. "Well, was I surprised? Did I enjoy the date? C'mon, Myc," he whined. "Give up the goods."

"Yes, _Myc,_ as Lestrade says, give up the goods," Sherlock teased his blushing brother with a thin smile.

Greg carefully set his fork on the plate and glared at Sherlock. He pointed one long finger at him. "You, no teasing your brother about what he tells or you can go home." He caught Sherlock's eyes with his own. "Got it?"

Sherlock scowled but when those brown eyes continued to hold him captive he finally huffed and threw himself onto his back on the rug. "Fine. But if I go John goes too."

"Not bloody likely," Greg chuckled. "He's a doctor and I'm injured. He'll stay here and you'll go home alone."

"John wouldn't make me go home all by myself," Sherlock declared petulantly. "He likes the sex too much." John spluttered his tea into his jumper. "Don't you?" Sherlock finished a bit uncertainly.

John dabbed at his sodden jumper for a moment before sighing and pulling it off. "I believe that's why they invented booty calls." He said mildly.

Sherlock's shocked expression had Mycroft's lips twitching and Greg clutching at his head at the sudden pain from laughing so hard. "All right," Greg gasped. "No teasing Mycroft until you can both leave safely," he compromised.

Sherlock sulked a bit more and then nodded. "Fine. Now finish the story, brother dear."

Greg closed his eyes and smirked. "Hey," he said suddenly. "Did we join the mile high club?"

Mycroft cleared his throat again. "Not on that trip, no." Then he caught sight of his brother's disgusted expression and decided that a preemptive strike against Sherlock's teasing was in order. "Though we did renew our membership."

John covered his grin with his hand, Sherlock groaned loudly and flopped back again and Gregory kept his eyes closed and just smiled. "So what did happen on that trip?"

"If you're going to talk about your sex life I'm going for a shower," Sherlock growled though he made no move to rise. "And I'm taking John with me."

Greg let out an amused sound. "You just want to shag John in Mycroft's shower and then tell him about it."

"What makes you think we haven't already?" Sherlock asked archly.

Mycroft made a distressed sound and Greg lifted his head to eye Sherlock. "I. Do. Not. Want. To. Know." He enunciated clearly. "Ever." He settled back and turned his head slightly towards Mycroft. "What happened in Tokyo?"

Mycroft shrugged. "Nothing really happened, Gregory. We simply had a nice dinner. It was raining but you didn't care about that. You insisted that we take our meals to go and sit in a park in one of the pagodas. We were the only ones outside in the rain. Just the two of us in a world muffled by the water falling from the sky."

Greg relaxed into the comfy sofa and let Mycroft's words weave a picture in his mind. Sherlock was uncharacteristically silent and Greg was grateful for it.

"You spread a blue blanket over the floor of the pagoda and pulled me down to sit with you. We ate with our fingers because we'd forgotten to ask for chopsticks or forks or any silverware at all. We talked about everything and nothing. We laughed. We must have sat there for a good three hours before the rain let up. After the rain stopped a breeze blew the rest of the clouds away and a ray of moonlight lit up our pagoda. It turned everything a silvery color and we both grew quiet. The drops hanging from the roof sparkled and shined brighter than any diamond I've ever seen. I kissed you there, in that pagoda, your lips tasted of wasabi and soy sauce and you. Every time I kiss you, you taste a bit different. So many flavors and scents around you Gregory. I am enthralled every time." Mycroft stopped suddenly just remembering that it wasn't only the two of them in the room.

He opened eyes he didn't know he'd closed and gazed at the other people in the room. Sherlock was sitting up again and watching him with a fond look that changed to a scowl as soon as John shifted a bit in his seat. Sherlock loved that Gregory and John thought he disliked Mycroft and Mycroft kept Sherlock's secret because he'd always kept Sherlock's secrets.

John had straightened in his armchair and was regarding his husband with a soft look. He was probably remembering the night he and Sherlock had done nearly the same thing on their own roof. Mycroft suddenly felt a bit bad that he'd seen even a moment of that evening. Some things were very private between couples. In his defense he had turned off the monitor as soon as he'd realized they were having a moment and he only seen as far as the two of them sitting under the umbrella for a few minutes.

He finally turned his gaze to his husband, half afraid that he'd find only confusion in those chocolate eyes. Instead he found himself looking at Greg's profile. Greg still had his eyes closed and face turned to the ceiling. His countenance was relaxed and for a moment Mycroft wondered if he'd fallen asleep again. "Tell me another," Greg's voice was hushed as though he were afraid of breaking some sort of spell on the room.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side in thought. "How about the time you got us captured and nearly killed by one of the nomad tribes of the Gobi Desert?"

The sudden cacophony of noise and flurry of movement as they all stared at him made Mycroft snicker.

"There are nomads in the Gobi Desert?" Sherlock.

"Where the bloody Hell was your assistant? Isn't she supposed to prevent those situations?" John.

"What do you mean I got us captured and nearly killed?" Gregory.

"Settle down," Mycroft said softly. "Just sit back and I'll tell you. Yes, Sherlock there are nomads in the Gobi Desert though the population averages about three people per square mile."


	16. Week Two: The Gobi Desert

**Disclaimer: I'm beginning to think that it is impossible that I will ever have a Lestrade of my own. It makes me very sad. My time machine didn't work, by the way. Oh, well. I am nothing if not optimistic and I will not let these setbacks get to me. I will persevere. I will get Lestrade if it's the last thing I ever do. For now though the characters are still not mine and I'm still poor.**

**A/N: Yes, this is another flashback chapter. Duh. Let me know what you think.**

**Week Two: The Gobi Desert**

"This is a desert?" Gregory asked as he, Mycroft and Anastasia left Jiayuguan, China to head to Dalandzadgad, Mongolia. "It's not even hot and I don't see any sand."

Mycroft shook his head with a small, fond smile for his fiancé. "Yes, Gregory, this is a desert. It's too high in elevation for it to get too hot this time of year. And there is no sand because the winds blow it all away. It's classified as a desert because it gets less than ten inches of rain a year. The Gobi Desert is the fifth largest desert on the planet and the largest in Asia."

Greg regarded the other man over the rim of his travel mug. "You're like a walking, talking travel book," he chuckled. "So why doesn't the desert get any rain?"

"The Himalayas block the clouds and thus the rain from getting to this area," Mycroft answered.

Greg chuckled. "Christ, Myc, is there anything you don't know?" He took a sip of the bitter brew the inhabitants of Jiayuguan laughingly called coffee and made a face.

Mycroft smiled. "Why you are insisting on drinking that disgusting stuff when we have a perfectly good thermos of coffee in the sack. And another one of some very excellent tea."

Greg shrugged and took another sip of the coffee. "Because it's an adventure, Myc. You wanted me to get the full experience and the coffee is part of it."

"I don't know why you are insisting on driving to Dalandzadgad, Mr. H." Anastasia piped up from the back seat. We could just as easily have flown to…somewhere and taken the train. Instead of driving across the desert where there are no roads."

Mycroft gave her a frown over his shoulder and she shrugged sheepishly. "Flown to…somewhere? Really? And we're driving for the adventure of it."

Anastasia held up her BlackBerry with a frown. "No internet access out here. I can't get us directions or call for help if we get lost. It's 675 kilometers Mr. H. are you sure this is a good idea?"

Mycroft and Greg shared a look and then Greg shrugged. "I don't have any problems with going across country. We have a compass; we'll be fine."

"Exactly. Besides if we do get lost we can just ask some of the nomads. I've been told that they love to have visitors." Mycroft agreed. "We can take you back if you wish, Anastasia. We're not that far away from Jiayuguan yet."

Anastasia simply glared at him so he went back to paying attention to the terrain and his driving.

The Gobi Desert had a charm all its own. The sun was just beginning to rise and it glinted off of the frost that had formed overnight. It hung of the low bushes and sent out sparkles when the headlights of the jeep bounced off of them. The sun sent fingers of red and gold and yellow and pink and purple across the sky and land before and behind them.

"Do you think a photograph would capture this amazing beauty?" Greg asked softly after about an hour and a half of riding in silence.

Mycroft slowly pulled to a stop and looked over at the man he had asked to share the rest of his life with. "There's no harm in trying is there?" He turned around and rummaged quietly in the packs they'd brought, finally coming out with the camera he'd bought Gregory on his last birthday. "Have at it, dear," he instructed. "I'll wake Anastasia and then we'll join you. We should stretch our legs anyway."

Greg grinned, took his camera from Mycroft and leapt from the jeep. Mycroft chuckled a bit as Gregory walked toward the sunrise searching for the perfect shot. "Don't go too far, Gregory!" He yelled out the window before turning to wake his assistant.

"I won't," Greg's voice floated back to him. Mycroft chuckled again as Greg jumped over a rock and then dashed out of sight behind a sand dune. Maybe there was something to the local coffee after all.

"Anastasia," he called softly and then shook her shoulder gently. "Anastasia, it's time to wake up."

The dark haired woman's eyes blinked open and she gifted him with one of her rare soft smiles. "Morning My, where's Greg? What time is it? Where are we?"

"Good morning, Anastasia," Mycroft replied. "Gregory is off taking pictures. It's a little after six in the morning and we're about five hundred kilometers from Dalandzadgad."

Anastasia gripped her BlackBerry, sat up straight and opened her door. "We'd best go retrieve him before he runs afoul of a camel or something."

"A camel? Seriously, Gregory isn't that stupid." But Mycroft followed his assistant out of the jeep and pointed out the way Greg had disappeared.

Anastasia grinned at him impishly. "I don't know, sir, he did agree to marry you. That makes him either masochistic or stupid." She giggled at his fierce glare and ran around the sand dune.

Mycroft followed her at a more sedate pace but stopped abruptly as he rounded the dune and nearly plowed into her. "Anastasia?"

"Shh!" She shushed him. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to stand beside her. "What do we do?" Her voice sounded scared.

Mycroft stared down the small hill in shock. Gregory was kneeling beside a small girl and there were at least a dozen nomads with spears and guns pointing at him. Gregory was scowling up at the spears and running a damp handkerchief over the girl's forehead. Even from this distance Mycroft could see the bruises on the girl's face.

"Mycroft!" Anastasia hissed and shook his arm. "My, what do we do? They're going to kill him."

Mycroft steeled his resolve and stepped forward. He would not let some nomadic tribe murder the man he loved. He intended to spend the rest of his life with Gregory and die in his arms as a very old man. "Excuse me?" He called out in his rusty Mongolian.

Three of the men spun around and glared up at him. They yelled in a language that he could only make out a few words of. He tried to listen harder to comprehend what they were saying but they were all talking at the same time and Gregory's concerned brown eyes caught his.

"Mycroft," Gregory breathed out. Mycroft couldn't hear the word but he knew what Gregory had said. Then Gregory took a deep breath and called out to him. "Myc, have Anastasia get the first aid kit from the jeep. This girl is badly hurt but I think she'll be okay if I can get some of these cuts bandaged."

Mycroft motioned Anastasia back to the jeep to follow Gregory's orders and then slowly, cautiously took another step forward. "We are trying to help," he called out in the six dialects of Chinese that he knew.

The men muttered between themselves and one shoved his spear in Gregory's face. Gregory scowled at them again. One of the men stepped towards Mycroft. His own Chinese was broken but understandable. "He hurt chief's daughter. He die."

"No," Mycroft denied. "My friend found the girl. He's trying to help." He pointed at where Gregory was still smoothing his handkerchief over the girl's face. "You see? He used his water to wash her face and try to wake her."

The man that had thrust his spear in Gregory's face looked down at the pair at his feet. He grinned suddenly and called something to his companions. Then he set his spear on the ground and patted Gregory on the head while babbling.

Mycroft relaxed slightly. "My assistant has gone to fetch medical supplies," he informed the man in the front. "We should be able to help her."

As the words left his mouth Anastasia scrambled back around the dune with the first aid kit under her arm. "I have the kit!" She called out unnecessarily. Ignoring the men she boldly walked past them and knelt by Gregory and the girl. "We can't leave you alone for a minute," she muttered at him.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Boring!" Sherlock declared loudly. "Lestrade wasn't ever really in any danger and you weren't captured or nearly killed. Boring."

"That wasn't the almost killed part," Mycroft said patiently. "After Artiebiba and Gregory bandaged up the girl they insisted on taking us back to their…village. They offered us a guide to Dalandzadgad and shelter for the night."

"But it wasn't even seven in the morning yet," Greg protested.

"No, but it was nearly four before we got the girl back to the village. It was a very good thing I'd planned an extra few days into our travel time. Anyway, the nomads make the most vile and alcoholic rice wine I've ever tasted. That stuff is toxic. I think they were trying to kill us with poison."

Greg snickered at Mycroft's aggrieved tone. "Got any more stories, Myc?" He asked and closed his eyes again.

Mycroft glared lightly at his brother and then nodded. "I'll tell you about the time you and John planned a double date for us," he decided.

"No!" Sherlock protested. "That's a horrible story!"

"Only because you nearly got us all arrested and I made you sleep in the parlour for a week for being an absolute arse," John pointed out.

Greg grinned. "Oh I have to hear this one now."


	17. Week Two: The Date

**Disclaimer: You know sometimes I get this feeling of déjà vu when I'm writing these disclaimers. It's like I've done this before…oh right. I have done them before. A lot. So, if I've written a ton of disclaimers why are you still reading them? I write them because it's funny. You read them for the same reason? Well okay then. Far be it from me to ruin your fun. Don't own the characters and I make no money from these stories.**

**A/N: My thanks to Fandemonium-in-the-streets for the idea for this chapter. I don't know why I didn't think of it first but kudos for the idea. And of course this chapter is dedicated to Fandemonium-in-the-streets for the idea.**

**Week Two: The Date**

"Mycroft," Gregory's voice called out to him as he traversed the file strewn floor of their new home. "When did you get in?"

"Just moments ago," Mycroft told him and searched in the direction of his voice for his fiancé. "Where are you?"

"Kitchen," Gregory answered in a curt tone. He'd had a frustrating day then. He had court in a few days which partially explained the files all over the floor of the parlour. The rest were explained by a new case obviously.

"Sherlock being a pest again?" Mycroft questioned mildly as he made his way towards the tiny kitchen.

Greg looked up from the mug of tea cradled in his hands with a weary sigh. "No. Not Sherlock this time, Myc. Anderson. And John."

Mycroft busied himself making a cup of tea as he processed this information. "Together? Has Dr. Watson finally punched Anderson in the nose?"

Gregory chuckled tiredly. "No. I really wish he had though. Separate issues. Anderson mixed up all of the files for the current case with the files for the court case in two days. I've spent the last five hours attempting to straighten them out. Haven't made nearly as much progress as I would have liked." Mycroft took his tea and sat down beside the older man. "And the John thing…well, that's a secret. Doesn't stop it being an annoyance but still it's a surprise."

"A surprise? What kind of surprise?" Mycroft questioned. "I'll help you with the files if you wish, by the way."

"That'd be a big help, Myc," Greg admitted. "And if I told you what kind of surprise John and I are cooking up then it wouldn't be a surprise anymore." He rolled his shoulders and set his face into a determined look. "I need to get back to those files. Glad you're home." He leaned over and pulled Mycroft into a passionate kiss before standing and heading back into the parlour.

Mycroft put shaking fingers to his lips and smiled. He loved it when Gregory spontaneously kissed him like that. It was always unexpected and welcomed. Gregory seemed to delight in catching him off guard. He shook his head, the smile never leaving his face, and followed his fiancé into the parlour to deal with Anderson's mess.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Four days later Mycroft stared at his schedule in shock. "Arianna," he called out to his assistant. She glided into the larger office from her own and came to a stop in front of his desk. "Is there a reason why my schedule is void for the next two days?"

Arianna never took her eyes off of her BlackBerry as she replied. "Of course, sir."

Mycroft waited for her to continue and then sighed. Arianna was being pedantic again. "What is the reason my schedule is completely clear for the next two days?" He asked in a clipped voice.

"I am not at liberty to say, sir," Arianna replied with no inflection to her voice.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side and regarded her suspiciously. "Is the reason anything to do with the surprise John and Gregory are cooking up together?"

"I cannot, in good conscience, divulge any of that information, sir," her voice held a definite trace of amusement now.

Mycroft's quirked lips were the only sign of his own amusement. "I do believe my husband-to-be has corrupted you, my dear."

Arianna glanced up at him from her BlackBerry with an impish smile. "It is not beyond the realm of possibility, sir."

He waved her off back to her to her office and sighed. Whatever Gregory and John were planning neither Sherlock nor himself had been able to deduce, beg or threaten out of them. Looked like it was nearly time to find out the old fashioned way: He'd just have to wait and see.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

By noon the following day Mycroft was rather glad he'd not ruined Gregory and John's surprise. He'd been woken to a delicious breakfast in bed, cooked by his husband. Gregory didn't know how to cook very many dishes but for some reason one of them was Tunisian Honey Rings and they were so good when Gregory made them.

Following breakfast activities they had met John and Sherlock at a nearby park and been forced to walk for at least a mile. When Mycroft made a subtle complaint John freely admitted to attempting to befuddle their senses of direction so they wouldn't know where they were going. Mycroft found himself unwillingly impressed by this deception.

Finally they broke through a stand of trees and into a grassy knoll in the park. Dotted about the knoll were couples on blankets, families laughing, groups of friends bantering happily as they seemed to wait. Arianna appeared at their sides with a large picnic basket and a blanket that she spread on the ground and then, without a word, she disappeared into the crowd.

The following few hours were some of the most enjoyable Mycroft could ever remember. Sherlock was on his best behavior and once the concert started he paid attention only to the music filling the area around the grassy knoll. Gregory and John only grinned and their bodies moved slightly to the music as they ate the finger foods provided in the basket.

Mycroft had never attended a "Concert in the Park". He'd always found the idea to be a bit trite and uncultured. Concerts in the Park were something that people did when they hadn't the money to go to a symphony hall. He had scoffed at the idea when Gregory had brought the subject up a few months earlier. He was sorry for that now. There was something absolutely charming about the experience. The music, while not top quality, was excellent and the laughter, chatting and at times shrieking of the audience only added to the experience. Instead of drowning out the musicians the noise seemed to compliment them.

As they were repacking the basket after the concert John admitted that he and Sherlock came here as often as possible. Sherlock liked to listen to the music in the open air. He claimed it helped him think.

"That explains why he left clean up to us," Gregory commented. "He bounded off to the stage as soon as the music stopped."

John nodded. "He's gone to give Gwen some new music for her band. They're the Celtic group that was playing last. He writes songs for them sometimes. And no I don't know why or even how they met though I suspect she used to be part of his Homeless Network." John picked up the basket and headed down the knoll to where the stage was. "C'mon, we've only three hours until the next event and I'd like some alone time with my husband."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"That's enough," Sherlock declared. "He doesn't need to know the rest."

Mycroft laughed and shook his head at his blushing brother. "I think he does need to know that we never made our dinner reservations because Gwen's overprotective and abusive boyfriend called the Bobbies on her 'stalker'."

"Stalker?" Greg asked with a laugh. "Sherlock? The only people he stalks are suspects," he paused. "Well, and John but John likes it." John groaned and shook his head while the others laughed. "So how did that get all of us almost arrested?"

Sherlock growled. "It wasn't my fault. John's the one that punched that oaf. I was the injured party."

Greg pasted on his best confused expression and looked over to his husband. "The oaf hit Sherlock first and the Bobbies did nothing because they thought the oaf, Derrick by the way, if I remember correctly, was defending his lady love from her stalker. John saw Sherlock fall and charged a man twice his size. Took him down too. The Bobbies called in reinforcements and then tried to break up John and Derrick. Sherlock to offense to that and joined the melee. You were trying to convince the PCs that you were a Detective Inspector and I," he flushed a bit. "Well, I was laughing at Sherlock's flailing attempts to get from under the three PCs."

John chuckled a bit in remembrance. "He was standing close enough to us that Sherlock swiped his umbrella and beat at everyone he could reach with it. Got me in the ear, which is why he was banished to the sofa for a week. He's smart enough to know better than to hit me."

Sherlock pouted. "Lestrade's the only one that didn't get caught up in that fight."

Greg laughed. "That's because I'm a whole lot smarter than you give me credit for, Sher. So how'd it all end?"

"Gwen explained everything to the constables. Then John took us all back to 221B and patched us up," Mycroft told him. "Then he berated Sherlock for half an hour for starting a fight with a man so much bigger than himself."

John stood up and stretched, joints popping and cracking. "Don't know about you lot but I'm getting hungry. I'll make lunch," he offered.

"Excellent idea, John," Mycroft praised. "Gregory needs his strength to heal." He saw the disappointed look on Greg's face and smiled softly. "We'll continue with the stories after lunch. Are they helping?"

Greg frowned. He was beginning to feel bad for tricking Mycroft. He had only wanted his husband to remember him and come back from wherever he'd gone inside himself. Now that Mycroft was reminding him of some of their shared stories he was feeling a bit guilty. "I think so," he murmured quietly.

Mycroft kissed the top of his husband's head in an attempt to banish the troubled look in the older man's eyes. "I will tell you every second of our lives together until you remember and then I will tell you more," he promised. "I love you, Gregory."


	18. Week Two: Wednesday: The Visitors

**Disclaimer: One can wish for anything. Did you know that? But just because you wish doesn't mean it'll come true. So, the characters are still not mine and no matter how hard you wish you can't win the lottery if you don't play and as I disapprove of gambling I'm still poor.**

**A/N: Taking a short break from storytime in order for me to generate some more ideas. Do you have any? Please tell me if you do. I'll dedicate the chapter with your idea to you, promise. Right I've made my plea and now it's time to continue with the story.**

**Week Two: Wednesday: The Visitors**

John and Mycroft brought the plates for food from the kitchen and handed one to each of their respective husbands. Sherlock scowled but took the plate and silverware handed to him. He knew better than to argue. He'd just eat a few bites and push the rest around on his plate until the others finished.

"You're not on a case," John told him with a hard look. "Eat it all or else."

Sherlock looked up interested. "Or else what? I really dislike open ended threats, John and you know it."

John rolled his eyes. "If you don't clean your plate then I shall be forced to hide your violin bow…again. If I recall correctly it took you a week to find it the last time."

Sherlock swallowed hard. John was annoyingly inventive when he wanted to torture Sherlock. The last time he'd taken his bow he'd wrapped in in cellophane and taped it under Lestrade's desk at the Yard without the DI knowing. If he didn't know it was there then he couldn't give away the bow's location. It had taken a week for Sherlock to figure out where it had been hidden and then it had only been because Mycroft had come by and he'd been to see Lestrade first and had felt the cellophane wrapped bow. Sherlock didn't even want to think about why his brother would be feeling around under Lestrade's desk.

"Fine," Sherlock finally muttered and stabbed viciously at his plate with his fork. He picked up a piece of the chicken and stuffed it whole in his mouth so that his cheeks bulged like a chipmunk's.

John pointed his own fork at Sherlock menacingly. "If you choke, I swear to God I will have Mycroft preform mouth-to-mouth while I call 999."

Sherlock found it difficult to scowl with his mouth so full and so settled for rolling his eyes and nodding reluctantly. Greg laughed helplessly at him and Mycroft smirked. "How do you know that I know how to preform mouth-to-mouth, John?"

John turned his attention from monitoring Sherlock's food intake to eye Mycroft with a considering eye. Suddenly he smirked. "Does it matter if you don't?"

This comment set Greg off again and by the time he'd calmed down enough to finish eating the doorbell was ringing and Mycroft was rising to answer the door. Greg couldn't hear who it was but Mycroft's face as he entered the room again had Greg quickly swallowing the bite of food he'd been chewing. "Myc?" He asked in concern.

"You have visitors, Gregory," Mycroft answered with a grimace. He moved away from the doorway and returned to his seat. "Please do come in," he said blandly to the two figures standing just outside the door. "I promise I won't let Sherlock bite you and if he does then John can give you rabies shots."

Sherlock contemplated tossing a brussel sprout in his brother's face but ultimately decided not to. It was no longer just family in the room after all. While he didn't really care how the visitors thought of him he would rather not show that he could be human to idiots.

"The Freak has rabies?" Sgt. Sally Donovan's voice screeched out as she took a step backwards and nearly knocked Anderson over in her haste to put space between herself and Sherlock.

Anderson steadied her with one hand, lightly pushed her to the side and then boldly stepped into the room. "Oh, yes, Psychopath is foaming at the mouth, can't you see it?" He told Sally sarcastically. He crossed the room and stood in front of Sherlock for a moment before offering a large file of folders to him. "Cold cases. They'll give you something to do so that you don't drive the DI into another head injury."

Sherlock just stared at him for a moment before taking the offered file with a silent nod. He gave a half thought to making a scathing comment but the man had just done him a favor.

Anderson allowed himself a smirk and then turned to Greg. "Glad you're out of the hospital, Lestrade. You look loads better than you did a few days ago."

Greg sat up a bit straighter and smiled at the forensics technician. "I'm awake," he told him. "Thanks for that by the way," he nodded towards where Sherlock was already deeply immersed in the files. "It'll keep him busy and stop him driving the rest of us nuts. Tea?"

"We're not staying very long," Sally said as she finally entered the room. "We just wanted to check and make sure they were taking care of you." She sniffed and refused to look at either of the Holmes brothers or John.

Anderson sighed and then nodded. "We really weren't intending on staying very long," he agreed. "Though I wouldn't mind a cuppa I guess it can wait until we get back to the Yard. We're over on our lunch break anyway."

"What happened to the barrista who shot me anyway?" Lestrade asked. "No one's told me yet."

"An unidentified sniper shot him in the hand," Sally griped. "He's still in hospital. They're trying to reconstruct his nerves or something." She turned her head a bit to glare at Mycroft. "Wonder where that sniper came from." She said snidely.

Mycroft gave her a tight little smile and popped the last bit of chicken into his mouth without answering her veiled accusation. Anderson put a hand on her shoulder. "Does it matter where the sniper came from or who it was, Sally? That barrista was trying to kill Lestrade and the rest of us. I, for one, would rather shake his hand." Behind Sally's back he gave John a nod that the other man returned with a blank look. Anderson only smiled. "Anyway, we should probably go. Lestrade looks a bit tired."

"Whatever," Sally waved a hand through the air. "I don't think it would be such a great loss if he never remembers that one," she thrust her chin at Mycroft. "It's not like he actually loves Lestrade or anything is it? Not like he even knows how to love someone else."

"Out," Greg ordered before either of the Holmes brother's had a chance. "Whether I remember or not, this is my house and he's my husband. It's his home too and I won't tolerate you insulting him or the rest of my family in my own home." Greg's voice was ice cold and his glare was even colder.

Anderson grabbed Sally's elbow and towed her towards the door. "See you next week, Lestrade," Anderson called out. "Enjoy the time off."

The door closed of Sally squawking and the four men simply stared at each other in silence before John shrugged and collected the empty plates. "You should tell him about the time the two of you were snowed in at the country house for a week," John suggested.

Greg grinned and settled back to lie down on the sofa again and then he frowned and stood up. "I need another cuppa," he announced. "And the loo."

"I'll get the tea," Mycroft offered. "Sherlock, walk with him."

"I can make it to the bloody loo all by myself," Greg protested. "I'm not an invalid."

Mycroft eyed him and then sighed and nodded. "Just be careful, Gregory," he said in a voice that was not begging. It wasn't, really.

Greg nodded and made his way from the room. Mycroft slunk into the kitchen and prepared Greg's tea. When he came back out Greg was just headed back toward the sofa. "Thanks, Myc," he said and swept the tea from Mycroft's hands. As he walked past Mycroft's chair he stumbled a bit and the tea flew from his hand as he steadied himself against the back of the chair. The mug of tea landed gently on the cushion of Mycroft's chair, splattering it with milky tea. "Christ, sorry, Myc."

"Forget the chair," Mycroft exclaimed as he grasped Greg's waist. "Are you all right? What happened?" He gently lowered the silver-haired Detective Inspector to lie on the sofa.

"Just got…really dizzy…for a moment," Greg managed to say between deep breaths. He blinked a few times and then stared up at Mycroft. "Guess, you'll have…to sit with me, now."

"Good idea," John approved as he threw a damp towel over the cushion of the chair. "Mycroft, put Greg's head in your lap. It'll help with the dizziness."

Mycroft followed the orders with alacrity. He'd been hoping that he'd be allowed to sit with Gregory all morning but was too unsure of his welcome to ask. He smoothed a hand through the short hair on the top of Gregory's head and smiled down at him. "Comfortable now?"

"Yeah, now tell me about being snowed in." Greg closed his eyes to hide the fact that there had been no dizziness in the first place.

**A/N: I know, a nice Anderson. Or semi nice anyway. I think I'm a bit disgusted with myself. And an overly mean Sally. Seriously though, I just wanted to try it out. What did you think?**


	19. Week Two: Snowed In

**Disclaimer: My mother has always said that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. Well, I don't see very many mounted beggars so I guess wishes don't come true. Doesn't stop me trying though does it? Still not mine and I make no money from these stories. **

**A/N: The snowed in idea is actually my son's so this chapter is dedicated to him. Hope you all enjoy it.**

** This chapter is also dedicated to janie17 for having the 100****th**** review for this story. Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. Thanks especially to each of you (janie17 among them) that have review every chapter.**

**Week Two: Snowed In**

Mycroft's hand stroked over Greg's head as he thought about that week. It had been a very good week. "Are you sure you want to hear about it?" He asked. "It wasn't all that interesting and we spent most of the week in bed."

Greg cracked one eye open and gave him an incredulous look. "We spent the week in bed and you think it wasn't very interesting?"

Mycroft frowned at him. "I am not sharing the intimate details of our love life with my brother and his husband, Gregory," he said stiffly. "So you may choose to pick a different story or I can tell you about the times during that week when we weren't in bed."

Greg pouted for a moment before nodding. "You'll tell me about the other times later though, right?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and nodded a bit mesmerized by Gregory's brown eyes. "Of course, if that is your wish."

Greg gave him a soft grin and nodded. "Now tell me about the not sexy times," he requested.

"Any time you are around me is a sexy time, Gregory," Mycroft breathed out. "You are a very sexy man."

Sherlock let out a vomiting sound and groaned loudly. "I refuse to sit here and listen to this sentimental drivel!" He shouted. "Either start a story or get a room. I don't care which."

Greg turned his head and glared at Sherlock before smirking at him. "You're just jealous, Sher. You want what I have."

Sherlock dropped the files he was holding, howled and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Delete!" He yelled out. "Damn you, Lestrade! Why? Why did you have to put those images in my head? He's my brother! Delete, delete, DELETE!"

John snickered and then let go with a full blown laugh. "That was evil, Greg. Very evil."

Mycroft only shook his head in amusement. "Be quiet Sherlock," he finally called out as his younger brother's howls increased in volume. "Stop it! Or I swear I will detail every single time Gregory and I have made love."

Sherlock's howls stopped abruptly and he calmly picked up the files he'd dropped. "Carry on," he waved a hand with a bland expression that only made John and Gregory laugh harder.

Mycroft waited for the two of them to calm down before he started his story. All the time he was waiting his fingers rubbed at Gregory's head. He'd come so close to losing his husband. His heart nearly stopped at the thought. He couldn't contemplate a world without Gregory in it. It was too painful. He was actually thankful for the last few days. Helping Gregory remember their life together was reminding him why he shouldn't take his husband or his cobbled together family for granted. Maybe he should call Mummy and ask her to visit and assist him in reminding Gregory.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Mycroft dear, what are you doing here?" Margaret "Mummy" Holmes exclaimed as her oldest son and his dashing husband entered the music room of the Holmes country house. "And Gregory darling, you came for a visit as well?"

Greg gave the woman a warm hug. "I forced Myc to bring me to see you, Mummy. Held a gun to his head and everything."

Mummy gave out her tinkling laugh and a gentle smack to his chest. "Don't steal John's gun to threaten your husband, Greg darling. I'm quite sure he didn't need to be threatened to come visit his old mother. He is quite the 'mama's boy'." She frowned then. "Oh dash it all!"

"Mummy?" Mycroft strode towards his husband and his mother in concern. "Whatever is the matter, Mummy?"

She gave him a sheepish smile. "I do wish you had alerted me that you were coming, dear," she admonished. "Some of the ladies from my bridge club and I had planned a trip, you see? We leave in the morning. Had you phoned I would have asked them to postpone the trip. I can't now because it's too late to change our reservations."

Greg grinned at her. "Go on your trip, Mummy, Myc and I were only going to be around for the weekend and you can come to London and visit all of us when you get back. We'll make sure to clear a week or so."

"Yes, Mummy, do go," Mycroft seconded. "We'd feel terribly guilty if we stopped you from joining your friends in your fun."

Mummy gave them both a shrewd look and then smiled at them again. "I have the best boys on the planet," she declared. "I'll go but the two of you will stay here for the weekend. If you go back to London then you'll just end up working and all four of you boys work far too much to be healthy."

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh as though greatly put upon. "Yes, Mummy if you insist."

"I do," she confirmed. "Now go and take your cases to your room and then join me for dinner?"

Greg and Mycroft agreed quickly and left to unpack and dress for dinner. The next morning they saw Mummy off before racing back into the house and to the music room for their original purpose in visiting it. Mycroft thought it rather poetic to make Gregory's body sing in the one room of the house designed for musical pursuits.

The rest of Saturday passed in a bit of a blur for both of them (_that is all I'm willing to admit in front of my brother and his husband, Gregory, so don't look at me like that_). When Sunday morning dawned it didn't. It was more the lack of light that woke Mycroft rather than sun shining in his eyes. He scowled to himself that he had woken so early and turned his head to check the time.

The digital clock on the bedside table was dark and silent. "Wonderful," Mycroft muttered realizing that it was the sudden silence of the heating shutting down that had woken him. He forced himself to let go of Gregory so that he could look at his watch and then he gasped in shock. It was 8:47 in the morning. He hadn't slept so late since their honeymoon though he didn't think that counted as they had habitually not gone to sleep until after six in the morning on their honeymoon.

"Gregory," he whispered. "Gregory, wake up." He put his arm back around his husband and squeezed before laying a line of kisses up the other man's neck. "Gregory," he called again.

"What?" Gregory muttered sleepily. "I'm sleeping, Myc."

"The power's out," Mycroft announced.

Gregory let out a sleepy sound of discontent. "And why do I care?"

"Because that means that the heat is also not working. We should start a fire before it gets too cold."

Gregory finally blinked his eyes open and looked over his shoulder at his husband. "And if the power comes right back on?"

Mycroft gave him a wicked grin. "Then we won't need blankets to lie in front of the fire, will we?"

"Capital idea, Mr. Holmes," Gregory returned the grin.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Pick a different story!" Sherlock shouted and leapt from the rug in front of the fireplace where he'd been reclining and studying the files while he listened. "Anything else."

"Sherlock," John chuckled. "It's a completely different house."

Sherlock glared at him as he gathered the documents and moved to the desk in the corner. "If they would stoop to do that in Mother's house then what makes you think they'd hesitate to do it in their own?"

Greg turned his head into his husband's stomach and laughed until the pain in his head forced him to stop.


	20. Week Two: The Big Question

**Disclaimer: Hmmm, not quite sure what to disclaim this time. That million dollars isn't mine. Nor is that recording contract. That mess in the living room certainly isn't mine. Unfortunately neither are these characters. That one really hurts, you know.**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to Starlight05 who wanted to see the engagement scene. Thank you for all of your lovely reviews and the idea.**

**Week Two: The Big Question**

"Do you need one of the pain pills they sent home with you, Greg?" John asked solicitously. "I have them if you do."

Greg waved him off. "No, no I'm fine. If I take one now I can't take one before bed, right? I'd rather wait until then. I won't have these stories to distract me then."

Mycroft rubbed at the Greg temples in an effort to relieve some of the pain. "I will tell you stories until you fall asleep if you wish it," he promised. "What would you like to hear next?"

"You lied you know?" Greg asked seriously. "You said you weren't much of a storyteller. You lied. You're very good at telling stories. It's like I can almost remember the events you're telling me about. Now tell me about how you asked me to marry you."

Mycroft's face did a strange cross of a smile and a frown. "I'm afraid I cannot oblige you there, Gregory," he confessed softly. Chocolate brown eyes caught sky blue. Blue eyes that were nearly the same as Sherlock's and yet so very different at the same time. "I did not ask you to marry me. You asked me."

"Did I really?" Greg breathed out, incredulous. Then he grinned that cocky grin that never failed to make Mycroft's knees melt. "I've got a big brass pair on me, don't I? So go on then, tell me."

Mycroft gave out a surprised chuckle. "Yes, yes you do."

"No sex talk!" Sherlock shouted. "Just tell the story without the sex, Mycroft!" He glared at his older brother and then turned back to the notes he was making on the files Anderson had brought him.

"Very well, brother," Mycroft conceded. "However I will remind you that these stories are not for your benefit but Gregory's."

Sherlock flapped one hand at him without ever taking his eyes off of the file on the desk in front of him. "Whatever. Just get on with it."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Mycroft sat at the table in the elegant restaurant anxiously waiting for his boyfriend to arrive. The atmosphere was perfect, the wine was very good, the food was of the finest quality and the ring was waiting in his pocket. Tonight he would ask his lover the most important question he'd ever ask anyone.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"I thought you said that Greg asked you, Mycroft," John interrupted.

"Patience is a virtue, Dr. Watson," Mycroft reprimanded.

"One you never taught your brother," John teased. "But I get the implication. I'll be patient and let you tell the story."

"Thank you," Mycroft said graciously.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Five minutes after he was supposed to have arrived at the restaurant Gregory finally breezed in. "Sorry I'm late, Myc. Donovan insisted on going over the evidence for the Hyerman case one last time and I lost track of the time."

Mycroft accepted the kiss from the silver haired Detective Inspector. "It's perfectly all right, Gregory," he told him as he slid into the seat across from Mycroft gracefully. "I've come to expect such trite machinations from your Detective Sergeant."

Gregory shot him a considering look and then placed his hand over the one fiddling with the silverware. "It doesn't make it right that I allowed her to make me late for our date, Myc." He squeezed the hand and was relieved to see a small smile pass over Mycroft's features. "Now what did you order for me?"

The candle lighting the table gave Mycroft's blue eyes a sparkle that Gregory rarely saw outside of their home and he grinned at Mycroft's laugh. Mycroft told him what he'd ordered for them both and they discussed their respective days while they waited for the waiter to bring their food.

Greg cut into his perfectly cooked steak with a grin. Mycroft always knew exactly what would make him forget about the trials of the day. He noticed that tonight Mycroft seemed more fidgety than usual and wondered what had happened that had Mycroft Holmes playing with his silverware and shifting in his seat.

"Myc?" Gregory began. "Is something-?"

Gregory was never allowed to finish his question as gunshots rang out through the restaurant. Bits of plaster rained down on the diners from the new holes in the ceiling and the air filled with terrified screams.

Mycroft eyed the black clad gunmen that had invaded the restaurant with extreme disfavor. "You have got to be kidding me," he growled.

Gregory grinned at him and his brown eyes were alight with mirth. "You take me to the most interesting places, Myc." He waved his arm at the gunmen. "Look, dinner and a show."

Mycroft gave him a mild glare. "No matter how entertaining you are finding this situation it is not at all what I'd had planned for this evening."

Gregory obviously had a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, if the glare he gave the gun in his face was any indication. "Excuse me?" He asked the man on the other end of the gun tightly. "What is it you wanted? I'm trying to banter with my boyfriend. It's a form of foreplay and we were just getting into it."

The gun wavered for a moment and the gunman scratched the side of his head with his free hand. "What?" His voice sounded confused and a bit afraid, the brown eyes nearly hidden by the mask claimed the same thing.

"You want politeness?" Gregory asked sweetly. "Then get that gun out of my face, please." He bit the last part out between clenched teeth.

"Irish!" Another voice called from the group of gunmen. "What's the holdup? Hurry it up before the coppers get here!"

The man, Irish, chuckled loudly. "We got us a smart mouth, Boss," he called out. "Whatcha want me to do with him?"

Mycroft glared at the room in general. Why did they have to pick tonight to rob this restaurant? Now his proposal would be tainted by this unfortunate incident. His eyes widened minutely when the barrel of a gun swam into his line of sight.

"Weren't you listening, guv?" The gun's wielder asked him.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at him. "No, actually," he told him coldly. "I was contemplating putting a bill before Parliament that would increase the maximum sentence for armed robbery. I can always worry about that later though. What did you want?"

"So Irish wasn't joking," the man chortled. "We got ourselves two smart mouths!" Mycroft only then noticed that all five of the gunmen had gathered around their table. Only two of them were facing Mycroft and Gregory though, the rest were watching the other diners fiercely.

Mycroft caught Gregory's eye and the older man gave a slight nod.

In a move that John had taught him not to long after they'd first met, Gregory brought his hand up and grasped Irish's wrist between his fingers; pinching the nerve and disabling the hand. The gun dropped into his waiting palm and he quickly turned it into Irish's face.

While Gregory disarmed Irish Mycroft brought his umbrella up between the Boss's legs and then calmly plucked the gun from his hand while he groaned in pain at the assault to his jewels. "You know Sherlock is right, Gregory," he told his boyfriend conversationally as he turned the gun on the remaining three gunmen.

"How so, Myc?" Gregory asked, kicked at one of the gunmen that seemed to be trying to sneak up on them and then cocked his head at the suited men that poured into the restaurant. "You texted Ashleigh?"

Mycroft glanced at the door of the restaurant and the flashing lights and sirens coming from the street. "You texted Sgt. Donovan," he accused mildly and relinquished his gun to one of the suited men. "Sherlock says the criminal class of London is steadily declining in IQ points. He's right."

Gregory gave out a laugh. "He's got a point," he agreed as he smoothly returned to his seat and sliced into his steak. "We make a good team, Myc."

Mycroft gave him a soft smile. "We do."

Gregory suddenly found his wineglass extremely interesting. "How would you feel about making it permanent?"

"Permanent? Gregory?" If Gregory hadn't felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach he'd be amused at the shock in Mycroft's voice. "What do you mean?"

Gregory's gaze left his wine glass and rose to meet Mycroft's. "Will you marry me, Myc?"

For an answer Mycroft pulled the jewelry box from his pocket and set the ring he'd bought for Gregory on the table with a smile.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Armed robbers at the restaurant where we proposed to each other?" Greg laughed shakily. "Please tell me there were no suicide bombers or terrorists or something at our wedding."

Mycroft seemed to consider it for a moment. "Not that I know of, but who knows what Artiebiba gets up to in her off time."


	21. Sentiment is Not AdbvantageousExcept

**Disclaimer: Hmm, what? Oh right. No they aren't mine. No I haven't kidnapped this Lestrade, are you crazy? The real Lestrade is a police detective and would know how to get out of handcuffs even if they are fastened to the bed. He could get out if he wanted to. Fine! *grumble grumble* Never let me have any fun with Greg. I wouldn't have rented him out to make money. He's much too good for that.**

**A/N: This chapter is dedicated to beccabrrr who wanted to know how Greg and Mycroft finally admitted to the attraction they felt for each other. Hope you like it.**

**Sentiment Is Not Advantageous…Except When It Is**

"I have a request," Sherlock stated.

"Really?" John asked astonished. "You mean you actually can't deduce something yourself, Sherlock?"

Sherlock sent his husband a quelling look and then returned his attention to his brother. "I want to know how Lestrade broke through your armor, Mycroft. You always said that sentiment was not an advantage and then you go and fall in love with Lestrade. How?"

Mycroft gazed at his brother considering his question. The younger man was genuinely curious. "All right," he agreed and then stopped as his phone buzzed on the small table beside the sofa.

All three of the other men glared at the mobile for the interruption and then transferred the glares when Mycroft opened the phone and checked the text messages. Mycroft looked up from the phone at the feel of those glares and blinked. "Artiebiba says she'll drop by at about five with takeaway and an update."

Greg relaxed back against Mycroft's leg and smiled sheepishly. "What kind of takeaway and an update on what? You said you weren't going back to work until I remembered you."

"Thai, what else would she bring you? And a report on why we were uniformed of what had happened to you last week until over twelve hours later." Mycroft told him easily. "I promised I would stay and I'm not a man to go back on my word."

Greg nodded and then that bright, cocky grin erupted across his features. "Good, you make a great pillow, Myc."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I believe I've enough time to fulfill Sherlock's request before she arrives."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Detective Inspector?"

The feminine voice at his office door had Gregory pulling his mind from the stacks of the Pink Lady's case notes piled on his desk and flicking his eyes up to observe the woman. He groaned. "Good morning…?"

"Adelaide," she glanced at him with a small smile. "Mr. Holmes would like to see you sir."

Gregory contemplated bashing his head against his desk but decided it would hurt too much to be worth it. "Of course he bloody does," he grumbled. "I'm up to my ears in paperwork and Mycroft Bloody Holmes wants to meet with me. Tell him I haven't time, Adelaide. I have to get this crap finished before I can even think about leaving today."

"We don't even have to leave your office, Detective Inspector Lestrade," Mycroft's voice came from just behind Adelaide. "You do know that it is nearly two o'clock do you not? And you've not eaten since you had a sausage and egg sandwiched in a slice of toast this morning before six."

Gregory had ceased being amazed at Mycroft's knowledge of his personal habits a very long time ago. Probably directly after their first meeting, he was Sherlock's brother after all. He rubbed at tired brown eyes as the younger man strode forward and set a brown paper bag on his desk between the piles of files. "Thank you?"

Mycroft waved off his gratitude. "Think nothing of it." He sat elegantly in the chair across from Gregory. Adelaide softly exited and closed the door behind her. Mycroft opened the bag and handed Gregory the sandwich contained inside. "I realize a hot meatball sandwich isn't the most healthy lunch but with your eating habits I'm sure you will survive one sandwich." He took out a fork and a salad for himself.

Gregory grinned and tore open the wrapping on the sandwich. "So why have you come for a visit, Mr. Holmes? I mean besides the food which is appreciated."

Mycroft sent him a bland look. "Always so curious, Gregory. I thought we'd moved past the mister stage. I do recall asking you to call me Mycroft."

Gregory grinned wider and his brown eyes sparkled. "Sure thing, Mycroft." He loved bantering with the older Holmes brother. Mycroft was milder than Sherlock. Oh, Gregory had no doubt that Mycroft was one of the most dangerous men he'd met but as long as he did his best to keep Sherlock safe Mycroft wouldn't do anything damaging to him. "Now answer the question."

To Gregory's amazement Mycroft fiddled with his fork and refused to meet his eyes. "Can I not simply bring you lunch?" Mycroft asked.

Gregory chuckled around a bite of his sandwich before swallowing it and regarding Mycroft with more than a bit of amusement. "You never just visit, Myc."

Mycroft's eyes flitted around the room again. Gregory stifled his laugh. He had a feeling he knew why Mycroft had come to him but he decided to let the other man tell him in his own time. "What do you think of Dr. Watson?" Mycroft finally asked when his eyes lit on Jennifer Wilson's file.

Gregory sat back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling in thought. "I think," he said slowly. "That Dr. John Watson is going to be the best thing that has ever happened to Sherlock. He's a decorated war hero that is patient, kind and tolerant. But he also has a core of steel. He will not allow Sherlock to go too far and he won't let Sherlock drive him away. I think Dr. Watson is here to stay and that he will be the making of Sherlock." His gaze left the ceiling and he stared straight into Mycroft's light blue eyes. "I also think you already knew all this and that you're stalling. Now why are you really here, Mycroft Holmes?"

Mycroft cleared his throat and attempted to tear his eyes from Gregory's. He couldn't move and he felt his skin flush. "I…um…AreyoubusyFriday?" He finally said in a rush.

Gregory stared for a moment before he finally worked out what Mycroft had said. "Not that I know of and it's a good thing I can speak Sherlock or I wouldn't have a clue what you just asked me," he rambled. "Why did you ask me? Are you asking me on a date?" His eyes widened. "Really? Please say this is a date."

Mycroft's anxious face relaxed and he smiled at Gregory. "Yes, I'm asking you on a date, Gregory. I find myself overwhelmingly attracted to you. I have tried to fight it because…well, I didn't think you'd ever say yes. Watching Sherlock interact with Dr. Watson convinced me that if a man like Dr. Watson could be attracted to Sherlock then there was nothing stopping me from testing the waters with you."

"Myc, I've wanted you since the first time you kidnapped me," Gregory breathed out. "I didn't think you'd ever…well, seems we're both as stupid as Sherlock always says."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"Yes you are," Sherlock crowed and then glared smugly at John. "Told you this was all your fault."

John smirked back at him. "I don't mind taking the credit and can you really, honestly tell me that you're displeased with the result?"

Sherlock scowled but was saved from answering by the ringing of the doorbell. "Artiebiba's got the best timing," Greg laughed as John went to answer her ring.


	22. An Enamored Bodyguard

**Disclaimer: I disclaim everything. I didn't do it and I haven't any money so you can't follow any kind of paper trail and try to accuse me. Though if you hand over Lestrade I promise not to sue you for defamation of character. **

**A/N: No dedication this time. I came up with this idea all on my own. Let me know what you think. And if you have an idea let me know that too.**

**A/N2: To Lovee: I thank you for the review and am glad you like the story.**

**An Enamored Bodyguard**

"Good evening, Artiebiba," Greg called out as the woman entered the parlour trailing John. "How are you?"

Artiebiba glanced up from her BlackBerry and gave him a warm smile. "I am well, Greg. You look much better than you did a few days ago. Being home must agree with you." She eyed his position on the sofa with his head in Mycroft's lap with approval.

"Or he's just enjoying Mycroft's stories," John grinned. "He's a very good storyteller though some of his subject matter upsets Sherlock."

"I am not upset!" Sherlock yelled loudly and turned his back on the rest of them, far more interested in the files. He'd already solved three of them and was contemplating texting Anderson for more.

"Of course you aren't, Sherlock," Artiebiba agreed calmly. "Still I don't want to hear any stories about their sex life either." She gave Mycroft the evil eye. "Stop trying to irritate your brother, sir. It's childish."

Greg slowly sat up as Artiebiba had the guard with her place brown paper sacks on the coffee table in front of the sofa he and Mycroft were reclining on. "You are the best, Artie," Greg grinned at her. "Have I told you lately that I adore you in a totally platonic you-scare-the-crap-out-of-me way?"

Artiebiba pulled a chair in from the kitchen and curled up in it with a plate of food before she smiled at him again. "It's been at least a week since the last time you asked me to marry you for the food I bring you. So no, you haven't told me that lately."

Greg ginned at her and attacked his own plate with a fierceness born of a hunger he'd been ignoring. "Leave the files and come eat, Sher," he called out between mouthfuls. "I know you're hungry. I can hear your stomach from over here."

Sherlock hunched his shoulders. "I'm not hungry and I ate at lunch. You can't possibly hear my stomach."

"Sherlock," John said in a warning tone. "You are not on a case. You will come eat. You promised. We made a deal. I wouldn't bug you about eating when you are working unless you haven't eaten in three days and you would eat three meals a day when you weren't."

Sherlock frowned at the files and slowly placed the one in his hand on the desk. "Cold cases don't count as work?"

John cocked his head to the side in thought. "Not unless they become active cases again, Sherlock. Now come and eat."

Sherlock sulked but did as his husband had bid. He settled himself far away from the fur rug in front of the fire place with a pointed look at Mycroft and sat near John instead. Artiebiba saw the look and couldn't stop the soft giggle.

"You said you had information for us, Artiebiba?" Mycroft asked after a few minutes of silent eating.

Artiebiba polished off the sauce on her plate by scooping it up with a bit of bread, popped the bread in her mouth and nodded while chewing it. "Yes sir," she confirmed after swallowing. "I've found out why we weren't informed of Greg's injury right away."

"Which of Lestrade's bodyguards fell in love with him this time?" Sherlock interrupted with a light sneer.

Greg groaned. "My bodyguards fall in love with me on a normal basis? How do I not remember this? You would think that something so embarrassing would remain in my memory indefinitely." He set his plate on the table and turned so that he could lay his head in Mycroft's lap again.

Mycroft obligingly lifted his plate up so that Greg could lie down and smiled down at him. "Comfortable?"

"Of course," Greg answered and then turned his gaze to the dark haired woman. "You gonna tell us about this stupid bodyguard that was after my body?"

Artiebiba giggled a bit. "He wasn't in love with you for once, Greg. He wanted you out of the picture so that he could have a go at Mr. H. There are a couple of agents on Sherlock and John's detail that think you're dishy but they're far more caught up on 'the cuteness of the Johnlock'."

"Me?" Mycroft squeaked. He flushed a bit, cleared his throat and tried again. "What did you do to this guard?"

Artiebiba gave an evil smirk to her boss. "He has been shown the error of his ways and willingly transferred to a bodyguard position with Dr. Salic in Russia."

"Do you always send my admirers off to remote places?" Greg asked with a chortle.

Artiebiba only raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't send them anywhere, Greg. They choose to go to oh, Davik Diamond Mine in Canada or Nord, Greenland or Antarctica all by themselves."

"At least they're not choosing Elko or Death Valley anymore," Mycroft mused. "I hated paying hospital bills simply because the agents couldn't take the heat."

"I'm far more interested in this 'cuteness of the Johnlock' business," John shuddered in remembrance of the heat of the desert. "Where did that come from?"

"It's our names smashed together to form a new word, John," Sherlock told him dryly. "John and Sherlock or Johnlock."

"I had rather figured that much out on my own, Sherlock," John frowned at him with a glint of irritation. "I meant why on Earth would they call us that and who thought that up? It's rather ridiculous."

"I like it," Sherlock refuted. "It's rather ingenious really. So simple and yet elegant. I would like to know who came up with it though."

Mycroft snickered. "Artiebiba of course," he snickered a bit more and then finally calmed as the dark haired woman blushed and shot him a furious glare. "She used it in a report on the two of you once and it just kind of stuck."

John shrugged philosophically. "Well at least the credit doesn't go to someone we don't know. I thought someone was peeping when they shouldn't be."

"Mycroft's always peeping when he shouldn't be," Sherlock said. He put his plate down and turned back to the desk full of files. "Maybe A has a story that will help Lestrade's memory," he suggested and sat down at the desk chair pulling a file towards himself.

Greg considered her for a moment and then grinned delightedly. "Do you, Artie? Will you tell me a story? Pretty please?"

"Stop whining, Greg," Artiebiba admonished him. "Very well, I do know a story I can tell you all. How would you like to hear about the very first time Greg and Mr. H. met in person?"

John guffawed. "Did you kidnap him too?"

"He did actually," Artiebiba nodded. "Now hush and let me tell it."


	23. The Warehouse

**Disclaimer: Looks like Mycroft has completely stolen my Greg's heart. Why did he betray me with Mycroft Holmes of all people? Fine I'll find someone else to fixate on. I could choose Moriarty but that would just be wrong. He wants to kill John and Greg after all. That would suck. I'll think of something. Anyway, they aren't mine and I make no money from playing with them.**

**A/N: Ha! It's A's turn to tell a story and we all know what she's like. This should be fun. Let me know what you think and again if you have an idea for a story for Mycroft or one of the others to tell then please share them and I'll dedicate the corresponding chapter to you. Thanks for all your support and encouragement. Enjoy the chapter!**

** On a side note: I have been advised that some of you may want the story to move along. To stop having them tell the stories and to get the relationship between Mycroft and Greg fixed up. I can if you all want me to. I might put some of my other ideas into one shots. Anyway, let me know if you want me to continue or if you want me to wrap it up. I'll give you all until Sunday September 8, 2013 to choose. That's just enough time for me to put down a few more ideas for stories and then I can wrap the whole story up. Leave me a review or a PM and let me know.**

**The Warehouse**

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade looked up in a bit of alarm when his office door suddenly opened and banged against the wall. "Sorry about that," the frankly beautiful dark haired woman said as she stepped into the room. "Didn't expect the door to stick." She never even looked up from the mobile in her hand as she spoke to him. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"Yes?" Greg asked.

"Good," the woman nodded decisively. "Would you come with me, please? My boss would like to meet with you."

Greg leaned back in his desk chair, making it creak. "Who are you? Who is your boss? I need a bit more information before I just swan off with an unknown, if highly attractive, woman, Miss."

Light blue eyes flicked up from the mobile and she frowned at him. Seeing his resolute expression she pulled an envelope from her handbag and passed it to him before turning back to her mobile.

Greg carefully opened the envelope and frowned down at the memo from the office of the Chief Superintendent. It was ordering him to accompany the woman, well the bearer of the letter anyway. "I need to verify this," he told the woman.

She huffed but nodded reluctantly. "Please be quick," she told him in that same monotone voice. "My boss can be very…impatient. And he hates to be kept waiting."

Greg rolled his eyes as he reached for the handset on his desk and dialed the Chief Superintendent's office. He kept his eyes locked on her as it rang through. "CS Carter's office," a chirpy voice answered.

"Hello Marleen, this is DI Greg Lestrade," Greg kept his voice warm but his hard gaze never wavered. "Is Carter in?"

Marleen giggled on the other end of the line. "You just won me five quid, Greg. You were much faster calling in than the Chief thought you'd be. Hold on a moment and I'll transfer you over."

"Thanks Marleen," Greg waited again.

"Good afternoon, Lestrade," the Chief's deep, booming voice filled Greg's ear. "You lost me five quid to my secretary." Carter chuckled. "Still learning your DI's are better than you thought they'd be is worth losing five quid over I suppose. Yes, Lestrade go off with the woman standing in your office. The man she's taking you to is very important and doesn't want to be seen in the Yard if he can help it. Just go talk to him."

"Yes sir," Greg answered and rang off. "Well, looks like we're going on a field trip. Where are we going?" He pressed for information as he stood and pulled his jacket off the rack and put it on.

She didn't answer him. She simply turned and walked out the door. Greg hurriedly followed her out of the Yard and to a waiting black car. "Could you be any more clichéd?" He grumbled. She ignored that too. A uniformed driver opened the door for them and Greg sighed before entering the car.

They rode in silence for a few blocks before Greg couldn't take the quiet anymore. "So, does your boss have a name?"

"Hmm, yes," the woman murmured.

Greg found himself sighing again. "You're not going to tell me?" He waited for her to shake her head as he'd known she would. "What about yours? Am I allowed to know your name?"

"Um," the woman paused and her thumbs moved like lightning over her mobile. "Artemis." She finished finally.

Greg gave her an assessing look. "Why do I think that isn't the name your parents gave you?"

A quick quirk upwards of her lips let him know she'd found that amusing but she only shrugged in answer. "You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" Greg asked and turned to look out the window at the passing buildings.

There was silence from Artemis. He'd expected that though. Soon he could feel the car slowing and then it entered a large warehouse near the docks. Greg swallowed then mentally shook the anxiety off. The Chief knew who he was with and most likely where he was. They wouldn't do anything to him.

"We're here," Artemis said quietly and reached over to open the door next to him. "The boss will meet you out there," she gestured vaguely to the front of the car.

"Going to claim plausible deniability when he kills me?" Greg asked her with a faint smile to show he was joking.

Blue eyes flashed up to his and held for the first time. "DI Lestrade," she started evenly. "My boss doesn't need to ever kill anyone. It's why he has me." She dismissed him from her attention and returned to her frantic texting.

Greg suppressed a shudder and stepped out of the car. That woman was scary. He blinked to get used to the change in light from the car to the warehouse. In front of the car there was a single chair. It looked rather like a normal wooden kitchen chair and Greg strode to stand next to it. There was only one so he remained standing. There was no way he was going to talk to this boss person sitting down while the other man loomed over him.

"Good afternoon, Detective Inspector," a smooth voice called out to him from the shadows towards the back of the cavernous room. "Won't you have a seat?" The cultured voice was accompanied by a strange tapping and footsteps.

Greg pushed his hands into his trouser pockets and watched silently as the figure emerged from the shadows. He wasn't expecting a tall man with dark auburn hair and gray eyes. He wasn't expecting to nearly lose his breath at the absolute power that accompanied the austere beauty of the man. He wasn't expecting the man to be alone. But he was.

"No thanks," Greg answered as the man strode closer. The mystery of the strange tapping sound was solved by the umbrella the man carried in his right hand. "I'll stand."

The man came to a stop a few feet in front of him and gave him a tight cold smile. "As you wish," he said smoothly.

"So," Greg drawled after a few moments of silence. The man before him hadn't twitched or removed his assessing gaze from Greg's face. "You called for this meeting." He made it a statement and didn't even bother to ask for the man's name.

The man focused on his eyes. "I did," he confirmed then fell silent again.

Greg bit back a frustrated growl. "Why? And who are you?" He finally broke and glared at the other man.

The man sighed and shifted a bit on his feet. "My name is unimportant. I wished to speak with you about someone." He paused again.

"Look," Greg clenched his hands in his pockets. "I have a crap load of paperwork to finish back at my office. I don't feel like playing these games with you so if you could just get to the point?"

The man gave him a tight smile. "Earlier this week you assisted a man named Sherlock Holmes," Greg nodded silently. He remembered the young man. Even delirious and nearly dead from an overdose the young man had given him a lead on one of the cases he'd been working. "Why?"

"Why what?" Greg spluttered.

"Why did you help a man who so obviously didn't want any help? Why did you take him to a hospital and save his life? Why did you listen to his deductions and follow up on the lead he gave you? Why would you tell him that if he gets clean and stays clean that you will allow him to assist you on your cases?" The man seemed to study him as he waited for an answer.

Greg stood up straight and glared at the other man. "Whether Sherlock voiced a need for help or not he wanted to live. I listened because it was the only lead I'd had in a week and I will let him help me if he can stay clean for three months. I'm willing to give him a chance which is more than anyone else has done for him from what I can see," Greg stopped to take a breath. He couldn't really afford to alienate a friend of the Chief's but he also wouldn't let anyone stop him from helping Sherlock.

There had been something about the younger man that had called to Greg's admittedly overdeveloped sense of protectiveness. Even higher than a kite his intelligence and need to help had shown brightly. Greg couldn't stand to see such talent wasted so he'd made his offer and Sherlock had grasped it with both hands.

The man studied him a moment longer and then abruptly nodded. "Very well." He sighed then. "I hope for your sake that you do not come to regret helping him. Sherlock can be very difficult." He turned and started to walk away. This DI was not at all what he had expected and Mycroft found himself hopeful for the first time in years.

"Wait!" Greg called out to him. Mycroft turned around and stared into those deep brown eyes again. "Why do you care? Who are you?"

Mycroft gave another tight smile. "My name is Mycroft Holmes, Detective Inspector. Thank you for your assistance. I'll be in touch to monitor my brother's progress."

Greg was frozen in shock as the other man walked away and disappeared into the shadows. Then he muttered under his breath about government types and their riddles and emotionless stupidity. He didn't stop muttering until after he'd slid back into the car and they were well on their way back to New Scotland Yard.


	24. Footie

**Disclaimer: Okay so I can't fixate on anyone else. I want Lestrade and I need to figure out a way to get him. I'm thinkin', I'm thinkin'. Give me time I'll figure something out. For now though they're not mine and I'm poor…as always.**

**A/N: This chapter is once again dedicated to Beccabrrr for the idea. Hope you like it. Thanks for all the reviews.**

** Don't forget to let me know if you want me to continue with the stories. And if you have any ideas for them. Thanks.**

**Footie**

"Did I really hate him when we first met?" Greg asked into the silence that followed the end of Artiebiba's story. He didn't remember hating Mycroft, per say, just being annoyed with him.

"You didn't hate him at all," Artiebiba refuted. "You were angry with him because of his seeming uncaring attitude towards Sherlock but you didn't hate him. It took you nearly a year to see beneath the mask and then you kind of just…insisted on being his friend. And then watching the two of you dance around each other for four more years was amusing and painful." She gave a sad shake of her head. "I was so very relieved when the two of you worked it out."

"You were not the only one," Sherlock murmured. "Do you know how hard either of them were to deal with back then? Every time Mycroft kidnapped Lestrade, Lestrade turned around and came to me and tried to mother me. He'd sit for hours in my parlour and just want to talk or feed me or make me sleep. And then after he'd gone Mycroft would come over and insist on grilling me on everything Lestrade said." He sent a glare at the two men in question. "I'd thought that when the two of you finally got together it would stop but you had to go and make friends with my John and now you two are around all the time! Or Lestrade is at least." He gave Mycroft a pointed look now.

Mycroft ignored him and continued to pet Greg's head as he let the memories wash over him. He smiled softly down into Gregory's brown eyes. "I knew you didn't like me in the beginning. I didn't mind. You liked Sherlock and that was enough for me."

Gregory smiled back at him. "Thanks for the story, Artie," he said without ever turning from Mycroft. "It was…informative."

"You're welcome, Greg." He heard the rustle of fabric as she rose to her feet. "I shall see you all tomorrow sometime. Have a good night."

They all called out their good nights. Greg yawned as the door closed behind Artiebiba. "Tired?" Mycroft asked him unnecessarily.

"Mmm," Greg murmured as his eyes drifted closed. "Yeah."

"Come," Mycroft gently lifted him. "I'll take you to the bedroom. You can't sleep on the sofa again."

Greg steadied himself against Mycroft's chest, he was suddenly very tired. "Stay with me?" He asked muzzily.

"Of course," Mycroft murmured and led his husband to their bedroom.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

"You promised me an embarrassing story, Myc," Greg whispered when they'd settled into their respective sides of the large bed. Greg suddenly decided that he hated this bed. He hated how far away Mycroft was and he hated that because of his own deception he couldn't cross that distance.

Mycroft propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at his husband. "Did I?" He paused and Greg nodded. "In that case," he lay down a bit closer to Greg. "I should tell you about when I mauled you at the footie game."

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Mycroft shifted uncomfortably among the group of women surrounding him. It was so very hot today and he was forced to socialize with the vapid policemen's spouses because it was the annual picnic and Gregory had asked him to come. He tugged on his collar and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe away the sweat beading on his brow. He hated this so very much. "The things I do for you, Gregory," he muttered under his breath.

"Not to worry, Mr. Holmes," Dianna Dimmock patted his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "The game will start soon and then you'll forget all about the heat…well, the heat of the sun anyway." She snickered with a blush.

He had thought that she was one of the few intelligent persons here today. "Pardon?" He asked coldly.

She giggled. "Once those boys—"

"And girls," Eric Patterson interrupted. His wife was a Detective Sergeant. He was a fireman, if Mycroft remembered correctly.

"Yes, Eric, and girls. Anyway, once they get started playing the heat of the day isn't the heat any of us are thinking about. They get all sweaty and excited and…well, did you know that there are fifteen children that have been born almost exactly nine months after this picnic in the last five years alone?" She waved a hand at the toddlers gathered on a blanket under the wary eye of some of the spouses.

Now Eric snickered. "Me and Ellie almost got arrested last year for indecent exposure." He paused and grinned. "The handcuffs would've been fun though."

Mycroft swallowed hard. A sweaty Gregory was even more sexy than usual. A sweaty sexy Gregory with handcuffs? Oh God, Mycroft suddenly wasn't sure he'd make it through the day. He vowed to himself that he wouldn't assault Gregory here. Not in front of his coworkers. No, he'd be able to wait…at least until they made it to the car. He hoped.

It was only moments later that everyone was called out to the field to observe the footie game. Mycroft stood on the sidelines and looked everywhere except towards his husband. It wasn't all that difficult. In the scrum of players it was easy to miss his husband's lithe form. Then suddenly Gregory was right in front of him. Mycroft's knees nearly buckled under the weight of desire flooding him.

His face was flushed a dull pink. His brown eyes sparkled with exhilaration. His brow was beaded. There were grass stains on his cheek and blades of it in his hair. He was grinning. Mycroft didn't hear the whistle calling for a time out. He didn't see the other players huddle together to talk strategy. All he saw was his husband. All he heard were the moans and whimpers that filled their home at night.

Only his very tight self-control and the fact that at the moment walking would be both difficult and painful allowed him to stay where he was and not charge the field and throw Gregory to the ground in a fit of passion. But oh, how he wanted to.

Mycroft kept his gaze trained above the game but it didn't help. Visions of Gregory flashed across his sight. He couldn't hear the cheers of the crowd over the pounding of his blood. Then Gregory was in front of him again. Taking his hand and pulling him towards him. "Game's over," Gregory said. "We won."

"Mmm," Mycroft watched those lips move and forgot to blink. "You should have a reward then."

His rigid control snapped and he hauled Gregory into his chest. His lips captured those grinning ones. His right hand grasped the back of Gregory's head to hold him in place. His other pressed against Gregory's lower back and brought their bodies as close as their clothing allowed. His tongue dueled Gregory's and then mapped out teeth and roof and tongue. He couldn't stop. He had to have his husband. Now.

But Gregory was pulling his head away. "Myc," he gasped out. Mycroft buried his head in Gregory's neck, catching the skin there and worrying it with his teeth, the way he knew drove Gregory insane. "Myc, stop!" But Gregory's hands were pulling him closer and his hips were grinding. "Myc, not here! Oh God," he groaned. "We have to stop." But now his lips were on Mycroft's ear. "Myc," it was a sigh.

"Ow!" Mycroft cried out at the sudden pain in his ear. He pulled his head up and glared at his husband. "You bit me! Hard! And not in a nice way."

Gregory gave him that cocky grin. "Do you really want to do this in public, Myc? Cuz I'm game but I do have to work with these people."

Mycroft swallowed hard and looked around himself. He frowned. "We're leaving, Gregory. Now."

Gregory nodded agreeably and they walked off to the car. The driver got a bit of a show before Mycroft remember to put the divider up.

MH/GL MH/GL MH/GL

Gregory gave a sleepy chuckled and rolled against the warmth of Mycroft at his side. The blackness of sleep swallowed him.

Mycroft watched his husband snuggle deeper into his side with a small smile. Gregory thought he was so clever. Well, he was, but did he really think that his husband wouldn't catch on to his deception?

He had known since Gregory sank into the sofa as though he owned it that Gregory was faking his amnesia. It had taken him a few hours to understand Gregory's motivations and then he had realized that this "amnesia" would give them an opportunity to reconnect. To remember why they were together in the first place.

He leaned over and kissed Gregory's forehead. "I'm so sorry for not being here, Gregory," he whispered. "It…I will be better. I won't forget you again."


	25. Week Two: Thursday

**Disclaimer: Today I don't think I care that they aren't mine. I'm tired. I would love to curl up under my blankets with Lestrade though so I guess I do care. It would be nice to waste a lazy Friday just snuggling. Oh well, they aren't mine and all I have are dreams and wishes…for now.**

**A/N: Tell me did you really expect Mycroft, ****_Mycroft Bloody Holmes_****, to not figure things out? He's letting Greg do this because he understands that they both need the remembrance of better, happier times. I've decided to end this story and just go with the series of one-shots. My reasoning is that I have other stories pounding at my brain and since I've fallen behind on my writing ahead due to work I don't have time to do both. (Or seventy as the case may be.) There are probably only one or two chapters left of this story now. I'm glad you all stuck with me for the ride and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did.**

**Week Two: Thursday**

Greg blinked his eyes open feeling warm and safe for the first time in recent memory. Strong arms were wrapped snugly around his waist and his head was resting on a smooth chest. He could hear the comforting thump, thump of Mycroft's heart under his ear. "Myc," he sighed and snuggled a bit closer.

Mycroft's arm unwound from around him. He stroked his fingertips along Greg's spine. "I'm sorry, Gregory. I will never be able to express exactly how sorry I am for the past six months. I would go back and slap myself if I could."

Greg stiffened. Mycroft held him tighter and continued the soothing strokes of his fingers. "You…uh," Greg sighed and lifted his head to look into Mycroft's blue eyes. "You know then?"

Mycroft grinned and bent his head to peck Greg on the lips. "Gregory, really? If you'd wanted to continue your charade you should not have flopped on the sofa as though you owned it."

Greg frowned. "I do own it," he said petulantly.

Mycroft chuckled. "You shouldn't have known that," he pointed out. "You were coming to a strange house with a man you barely knew. The sofa was mine. You had no familiarity with it. Hesitation would have been your first reaction. You would have wanted to be alert and relaxing on a monster sofa was not alertness, dearest."

Greg winced at his own perceived stupidity. He'd known his reactions were off. He should have been more careful. "Oh. Damn." He sighed. "You know I was regretting this charade anyway. I felt horribly guilty about five minutes after I started it."

Mycroft tightened his arms again. "Don't." He said simply. "Sometimes I need a good kick in the pants to remind me that there are people who love me."

Greg gave him a grin and a quick kiss. "Next time I won't wait so long to deliver it," he promised. He laid his head back down, content to listen to the thumping heart beneath him.

There was a comfortable silence as Mycroft traced barely there circles on Greg's back and Greg basked in the warmth around him. "We should get up," Mycroft finally said quietly. "John and Sherlock will be in here to see why we're not soon."

Greg groaned and wrapped himself around Mycroft like a limpet. "Don't wanna," he whined. "I don't have to get up and neither do you. John will make Sherlock knock and we'll tell them to get the Hell out."

The chest beneath him rumbled with Mycroft's laughter. "When has that ever worked with my baby brother?"

"Fine," Greg huffed out. He pushed himself up on his hands, stealing a quick kiss before sitting on the side of the bed and taking a deep breath against the pain of the sudden movement.

"Gregory?" Mycroft called to him in alarm. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"

"'M fine, Myc," Greg muttered. "Just got up too fast. Made my head ache." He took another deep breath and then turned his head to look at his husband over his shoulder. He gave him a wan smile. "Promise. I'm fine. Just…should have taken my pills last night, I guess."

Mycroft flung himself from the bed, not at all assured by his husband's suddenly pasty face. "I'm getting John," he declared and paced to the door. "John!" He yelled when he'd flung it open. "John!"

"Myc," Greg sighed even as he heard running feet in the hall and the rustle of Mycroft's dressing gown being thrown over his shoulders. "Mycroft!" He shouted and then wished he hadn't as the pain increased with the loud noise. "Dammit," he sighed and put his head between his hands to let out an amused sound.

"Greg?" John's voice came from in front of him. He lifted his head and blinked when he saw John knelt on the floor at his feet. "What happened?"

"Nothing," Greg huffed out. "Just sat up too fast, is all. Made my head hurt. Then Myc overreacted. Where is Myc? And Sherlock?"

John nodded in agreement even as he checked Greg's pupil dilation and pulse. "I sent them from the room so I could take a look at you without them hovering. You're fine," he claimed after a few moments. "Want some pain meds? And stay on the sofa again today. Don't get up except to use the loo."

"No," Greg shook his head carefully. "I'll stay on the sofa like a good boy. But I want more stories."

John chuckled at his tone and helped him slowly to his feet. "We'll see what we can do to entertain you," he promised.

"God," Greg moaned as John lowered him onto the sofa. "I feel like an old man. This being shot in the head business isn't all it's cracked up to be, you know?"

John sat down in the chair he'd occupied the day before. "I don't think it's supposed to be fun, Greg," he admonished. "You were very lucky. That could have ended in so many other ways. Much worse ways."

"Oh, I know," Greg grimaced at his friend. "I know how very lucky I was. Still…I hate headaches."

"So long as you realize that your life isn't something to just throw away," John grinned at him. "Not that you could have done anything differently."

Greg settled his head back on the cushion and wished it was Mycroft's lap. "Gregory?" Mycroft's voice was quiet. Greg opened one eye and looked up at him. "Tea?" Mycroft offered the mug in his hand and Greg nodded slowly before carefully sitting up and taking the mug while Mycroft sat down.

"Molly texted earlier," John announced. "She wanted to know if it was all right for her to visit after work today."

Greg shrugged, set his mug on the coffee table and lay down with his head in Mycroft's lap again. "It's fine with me," he grinned up at Mycroft. "Storytime," he said with relish.

"What is the point of this exercise?" Sherlock finally spoke up. "It's obvious Mycroft has deduced our ruse and Lestrade has forgiven Mycroft ridiculously easily so why must we continue to listen to stories about them?"

"You're just irritated because you only wish John would forgive you as easily," Greg snorted. "And we're listening to stories because I'm injured and I want them. Now shut up, Sherlock…unless you've a story to share."

"Well," Sherlock considered for a moment and then grinned a delighted, evil grin. "There was that time in Las Vegas…"

**A/N: Well that's it. For more stories about Greg and Mycroft see the one-shots I'm posting later. Yes the Las Vegas story will be there. Thanks for reading and reviewing.**

** For those of you who think I ended this too quickly and that Greg forgave him too easily I'd apologize but I'm not sorry. Greg and Mycroft as well as Sherlock and John have rather healthy relationships. And they adore each other. Saying that they're sorry is usually enough in that situation. Well, and they still have some time to work everything out, they'll get around to talking more in depth sometime before they both have to go back to work.**


End file.
